


Mundie's Oneshots

by MundieORiley



Category: Multi-Fandom
Genre: HarryPotter - Freeform, Requests, Sherlock - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, X-men - Freeform, bioshockinfinite, detroitbecomehuman, legendofzelda - Freeform, lordoftherings - Freeform, lotsoffandoms, marvelcinematicuniverse - Freeform, oneshots, riseoftheguardians - Freeform, startrek - Freeform, thelastofus, undertale - Freeform, walkingdead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-07-29 14:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16266179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundieORiley/pseuds/MundieORiley
Summary: This is just a little book I plan on filling with Oc and reader insert oneshots from my various fandoms.  Most of these may one day be reincarnated into a full length book of their own, if my creativity allows. I'll try to upload something on here at least once every week and a half. It depends on how much I can bust out.  Also, I will take requests for all the fandoms tagged! Just comment what you want me to write!P.S: I will update the relationships tag list as I go along.





	1. Quick Preface

Hey guys! How's it going? I just wanted to tell you all a few specifics about my oneshot book. I'll label anything I put in here that are requests. If it's note specifically stated that it's a request, then it's something I wrote unprompted. 

As for requests, I'd love to know what kind of plot stuff you want written and format you want me to write in, like reader insert for instance. I will definitely write a request in third person with an Oc of my creation too, or even an Oc you want! Just let me know and I'll write it; the only thing I will not write is smut. Feel free to comment any requests!

Thank you all so much!

Mundie


	2. Boldly Go | Bones x Oc

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone! I hope everything's going well for you guys! This is a Star Trek AOS one shot I wrote a couple years ago; It takes place during Star Trek 2009. I hope you all enjoy it!

Thanks for stopping by

Mundie 

 

 _Bones is_ so  _going to kill me._

Emalee curses under her breath as she struggles into a half sitting position, her back leaned against a piece of pillar connecting to the other platforms behind her. She avoids looking over the side of the thin walkway she currently sits on, keeping a sharp eye out for any more Romulans that may be lurking on the other catwalks scattered around the large room. Whose idea was it to design a ship to have a bunch of walkways criss crossing each other all over the place, with no railings either? It's just a disaster waiting to happen and Emalee sure as hell doesn't want to fall over the side like one of Nero's crew members did, courtesy of your's truly.

She winces as the wound in her stomach protests painfully at her movements, reminding her to apply more pressure to the bleeding stab wound, blood leaking stubbornly between her crimson stained fingers. Unfortunately for her and Jim, the two Starfleet officers had been intercepted by Nero, the captain of the Narada and kidnapper of Captain Pike, and one of his cronies. A short and bitter fight had ensued, a fight in which Nero easily beat the living hell out of Jim while Emalee was occupied with the other Romulan. Emalee had managed to unbalance the large crony and shove him over the edge of the catwalk they had been fighting on, but not before he got a few good hits in. So, it's safe to say Emalee had not been at the tip top of her game when she had pulled Nero off Jim. She had succeeded in buying Jim a bit of time to recover, but not before the Romulan captain had slammed her against the wall she currently rests against and stabbed her in the stomach. It had been, hands down, the most painful thing she has ever experienced.

Fortunately, in that moment, a robotic voice had come over the ship's intercom, informing Nero that Spock had destroyed the large drill that had been digging into Earth's surface, causing Nero to yank the blade out and let Emalee go and leap over to another catwalk and disappear. Emalee had slid down to the ground, biting her lip to keep herself from crying out in pain again. Jim had pulled himself from the floor and stumbled over to Emalee, dropping to his knees beside her.

"Well,  _that's_ just typical," she had said as Jim had placed his hands over hers on the wound, applying pressure.

She had sucked in her breath sharply as a bolt of pain had radiated out from the wound in protest to the added pressure.

Jim had shaken his head at her, his jaw noticeably tight. "Your luck is worse than mine, you know that?"

Emalee had let out a weak laugh at that. "Yeah, well, I didn't really think that one out. You owe me big time."

By way of response, Jim had wrapped one of her arms around his neck and tried to get her to her feet. "Come on, let's get out of here."

She had hissed between her teeth at the unexpected movement, frustrated that she had gotten herself hurt and turned into a burden.

"Jim, I'm only going to slow you down," she had said as she leaned heavily on her best friend. "You're going to have to leave me here."

"No way," he had said with a shake of his head as he had tried to gently guide his friend forward, but she had stubbornly dug in her heels, forcing him to stop. "There's no way in hell I can just leave you here."

"You'll never make it to Captain Pike in time if you don't," Emalee had said as she, doing her best to ignore the throbbing wound, pulled herself away from Jim and leaned heavily against a nearby wall.

"Emalee-,"

" _Go_ ," she had interrupted. "I'll be fine."

He had stood there, clearly conflicted and they had stared each other down for a few moments, both stubborn and unwavering.

Finally, Jim had let out a long and defeated sigh. "I swear, when we get back, I'm going to kill you."

Emalee had smiled weakly. "Not if Bones gets to me first.... Now go."

With one last look, Jim had turned and hurried away, leaving Emalee alone.

Now, frustrated and hurting all over, Emalee has been reduced to mumbling curses under her breath.

"Stupid, freaking,  _Romulan_ ," she grumbles.

Note to self: Kick Nero's sorry Romulan ass.

_You're just angry because you might not make it back to Bones._

Emalee squeezes her eyes shut, shutting down that train of thought and blocking the emotions that come along with it.

"Channel your inner Spock," she mumbles to herself as she opens her eyes again, taking as deep and calming breaths as her wound will allow her.

She prays Jim gets to Pike on time, prays that Spock is still in one piece, prays that everything will work out, that, if she has to, she'll be the only one that has to die.

The bleeding doesn't appear to be slowing down, seeing how warm blood still leaks freely between her fingers, staining everything it comes in contact with. And if the shakiness in her hands and the heaviness in her body is any indication, Emalee is losing too much blood too quickly. It looks like no amount of pressure she applies to the wound with her hands will do much good, but there's no way she's going to go down without a fight. She promised Bones she would make it back to the Enterprise alive and she'll be damned if she doesn't uphold that promise. She has to tell him how she feels about him before she can die anyway; Emalee already regrets putting it off for so long as it is and there's no way she's going to die with regrets.

She has to tell him she loves him before it's too late.

When it feels like years have gone by, but in reality only ten minutes have, golden light suddenly appears, swirling around her, encompassing her entire battered body. A huge grin flits across Emalee's pale face as the familiar feeling of beaming washes over her, along with relief. If she's being beamed, that means the mission was successful.

A moment later, Emalee finds herself sitting on the transporter pad, biting back a cry of pain as the beaming jars her sharply. She blinks several times to clear away the dizziness that always accompanies beaming and immediately begins to struggle to her feet, as she quickly does a sweep of the room. Emalee uses the wall for support (unknowingly smearing blood across its once pristine white surface) and ignoring the shakiness of her knees and the pain she feels throughout her entire body as she takes in the sight of Jim and Spock propping a half conscious, but alive, Captain Pike between the two of them. Scotty and a few other personnel are on their feet, rushing to help Spock and Jim with Captain Pike. Finally, she spots Bones, hovering around Jim and Spock, brandishing his infamous tricorder. The familiar sight of Doctor McCoy buzzing busily around a patient, despite the situation, causes Emalee to smile. But something isn't right with the doctor. He seems incredibly distracted and, from what little she can see of him around all the people in the room, he appears to be looking for something that the Enterprise personal keep obstructing his view of.

Emalee expects the group of people swarming around the injured captain to bustle out of the room and, not that she minds at all (in fact, she encourages it), leave Emalee behind to make her own way to Medbay, but Jim and Spock draw the Captain away and all the worried crew members out of the room with them. Doctor McCoy lets everyone else through first, his dark eyes searching the small crowd, again, looking for something.

Suddenly, Emalee's vision becomes unfocused as relief washes over her when she realizes everyone is safe and alive. The room becomes nothing more than unrecognizable blobs of color, her hearing hollowing out and becoming indistinct. She becomes hyper aware of the warmth of her blood staining her hand that remains pressed over the wound, the feeling of the cold wall slick with blood beneath the hand she has leaned against it for support, the feeling of her knees practically knocking together from the strain of keeping her upright, and the overwhelming urge to lay down, close her eyes, and go to sleep. Just as that thought crosses her blurry mind, her legs finally give out as her sense of balance goes sideways, making Emalee sink slowly to her knees and droop forward, like a wilting flower.

She blinks several times in an attempt to clear her blurry mind and vision, wobbling dangerously as she suddenly finds herself desperately wanting, needing, to call out to Bones, to get his attention.

 _Emalee! Snap out of it!_  Her internal voice screams at her.

She blearily lifts her incredibly heavy head, desperately looking for the only reason she's been able to hold on this long. Her eyes, which are going from focused to unfocused without her consent, latch onto Bones, who is still looking out the doorway, back to her, nothing more than a blob of blue and black.

 _He's looking for_ you, murmurs her subconscious.

As her precarious grip on reality slips between her fingers, Emalee tries to call out to him, to stand back to her feet, but, due to her discombobulated state, she only causes herself to lose her balance entirely and fall onto her injured side with a  _thud_. The pain barely registers as everything takes on a surreal air. She watches her blood leak from the wound and form an ever growing crimson pool with morbid fascination.

Emalee wonders if this is what dying feels like, as a voice, garbled and muffled, calls for her attention.

 _If it is, then death's not so bad_ , she tells herself as the voice becomes more urgent. She barely notices something buzzing and beeping in her ears, her blurry eyes still latched onto the pool of blood forming next to her.

 _It'd be so easy to just close your eyes and slip away_ , the voice whispers to her as someone gently turns her onto her back. However, that barely sticks in her mind as her eyelids droop, thinking maybe the voice is right.

Sleep sounds nice.

 _Go on, close your eyes_ , says the voice, soothing and reassuring.

 _Yeah, I think I will_ , Emalee thinks sleepily as she lets her eyes slip shut.

 _Don't you_ dare  _close your eyes,_ another voice suddenly says, familiar and urgent.  _Stay with me, Emalee!_

 _Hmm_?  _But why? I'm so tired,_ she says to the demanding voice.

Ignoring the voice telling her to close her eyes, she slowly forces her eyelids apart, her vision as blurry and fuzzy as her mind. Things slowly start to bleed into focus and she becomes aware of the fact her body is quivering, even though she doesn't feel cold, the feeling of warm arms cradling her gently against a blue clad chest. She realizes someone is carrying her, the swaying motion only making her dizzier than she already is.

"Emalee, can you hear me?" The voice is urgent, worried, and achingly  _familiar_.

Slowly, she pulls her gaze up to the owner of the voice, the sight of this familiar man with the hazel eyes, dark hair, and southern lilt to his words chasing away the blackness gathering in the corners of her vision.

"Sure can, sunshine," Emalee mumbles with a cheeky smile in response to the doctor's question, glad she can string together a sentence even though her breathing isn't exactly even.

"Of course you're joking at a time like this," he says, his voice tight and bitter. Bones picks up the pace, urgency and fear rising up in him full force. Emalee is exhibiting textbook symptoms of shock and, obviously, blood loss.

"Can you tell me how long you've been bleeding?" he asks her as the door to Medbay comes into sight at the end of the hall, forcing his voice to come out even. The last thing McCoy wants is to let his almost overwhelming anxiety and fear get the best of him and rub off on Emalee.

"Hmm... I dunno," Emalee responds, her words slurring together.

Just then, Bones bursts into the Medbay, immediately noting most of his staff are hard at work on Captain Pike in his few minute's absence. He notices a nurse buzzing anxiously around the room, clearly not sure what to do with herself. Bones calls out to her as he places Emalee on a nearby bed, slipping into Doctor Mode. The nurse turns and immediately rushes to his side.

"Yes, Doctor?"

Bones barely takes his eyes off Emalee as he scans her with his tricorder for the second time, noting the paleness of her skin and the bruises scattered like ugly purple, blue, and black flowers across her cheekbones and jaw. He pushes away the anger at the Romulans who did this to her and instead quickly puts together a mental list of things he's going to need. He rapidly orders the nurse to gather the needed supplies, the women immediately following his orders. Suddenly, a cool and clammy hand grasps his that had been leaned on the bed beside Emalee, immediately getting his attention.

"It's that bad, huh?" Her voice is tired and weak, eyes half lidded as she looks up at him, not missing the way his jaw is clenched.

The nurse suddenly appears with her arms full of medical supplies, giving Bones an excuse not to reply. The two quickly go to work on Emalee, who can barely keep her eyes open at this point, everything becoming distant and echoey. Only disconnected words and phrases like 'surgery', 'lost a lot of blood', and 'transfusion' register to Emalee's tired brain as she feels the prick of a needle. Her eyes slip closed and darkness overtakes her.

***

The first thing Emalee becomes aware of as she slowly reaches consciousness is the sound of hushed voices, the quiet  _pit pat_  of light feet across tile, and a soft and rhythmic beeping noise. Emelee listens to the quiet noise of activity around her, letting her drowsiness stick around for a little while longer, not wanting to rush into full wakefulness. But, she becomes more alert and with that alertness comes the pain. She feels like one giant, sore and throbbing bruise.

Two pairs of feet approach her and stop near her bedside, interrupting her thoughts.

"How's she doing?"

Emalee recognizes Jim's voice, which is lowered and a lot more solemn than it usually is.

"Stable," a second voice Emalee instantly knows belongs to Bones says, also lowered to just above a whisper. "Should be coming around soon."

There's a moment of silence that is only filled with the rhythmic beeping Emalee assumes is her heart monitor and the two men's almost inaudible breathing.

"How'd she get stabbed?"Although his voice is relatively even, Emalee knows the doctor well enough to detect the tightness present in his words.

Jim lets out a sigh and Emalee can imagine him looking at the floor and shaking his head.

After a moment, Kirk tells Bones about the fight between the two Starfleet officers and Nero and his crony.

"I tried to take her with me, but she wouldn't let me," Jim says. "She said she'd only slow me down and keep me from getting to Pike on time.... I didn't want to leave her there, Bones. I really didn't. But if I hadn't, Pike would be dead and Earth would have been destroyed and...."

There's a long, pregnant silence.

"I know you did the right thing, Jim," the doctor says. "But-."

Bones closes his mouth with an audible  _click_  and falls into silence.

"Well, I'd better get back to the Bridge," Jim says. "Comm me if Emalee wakes up."

And with that, Jim's footsteps fade away, clearly understanding Bones wants to be left alone for the time being. The doctor lets out a slow exhale as the sound of a chair softly being pulled up to Emalee's bedside and the doctor sitting down reaches her ears.

"We both know you're not asleep," Bones says.

Emalee resists the urge to wince and opens her eyes.

"Was it that obvious?" Emalee attempts to get into a sitting position, stubbornly ignoring her wound's protest.

"Damn it, Emalee!" Bones immediately stands to his feet and gently pushes her back into the mattress, his accent becoming more prominent. "Don't move 'round so much. You'll pop your stitches."

Emalee knows Bones' accent gets thicker when he's worried or worked up. The last thing she wants to do is make him worry more than he already does, so she grudgingly lays down again. The doctor flops back in his chair and runs a hand over his face with a sigh.

"You've got to be the craziest, most stubborn, and reckless woman I've ever met," he says, his hand still over his face.

"Look, I  _know_  I put you through hell," she tells him, ignoring the hoarseness in her voice. "But-,"

"Yeah, tell me somethin' I don't know," Bones interrupts as he straightens in his seat and bends an intense look on Emalee, mouth set in a firm line. "Emalee, you died and I had to bring you back two times.  _Two. Times_. Do you have any idea-?"

Bones looks away from her and lets out a long sigh, running a lean hand over his face and keeping it there. She stares at him, wracking her mind for something, anything, to say, but, as the silence lengthens, nothing substantial comes to mind. Unable to think of anything else, Emalee slowly reaches out a hand and gently takes his, tugging it away from his face. It's slightly uncomfortable, leaning over like she is, but she can't bring herself to care as Bones slowly looks up at her, an expression on his face she can't quite read.

"Leo," she says, her nickname for him slipping out before she can stop it. "I-."

McCoy pulls his hand out of hers and stands to his feet, avoiding her eye. "Let one of the nurses know if you need anything."

And with that, he turns and walks away, out of Emalee's line of sight.

She crushes the hurt she feels as she looks after Bones, cursing herself for being so stupid. Of course he wouldn't want her to be so, well,  _affectionate_ , with him. Now she's gone and made him uncomfortable

_So much for telling him your feelings._

"Shut up," she tells the voice under her breath as she forces her muscles to relax, leans back against the pillows and closes her eyes.

Quiet activity continues around the Medbay, giving Emalee something to distract herself with as she listens to the nurses talking amongst themselves and to other patients. She opens her eyes and perks up a little when she catches the tail end of a conversation about Captain Pike, who is on his way to recovery. Emalee smothers the feeling of guilt that rises in her chest when it occurs to her Bones must have been too busy saving her life to help save Pike's, whose life, in her opinion, is so much more important than hers. She's just some expendable communications officer while Pike is a captain (of the Enterprise no less!), one of the most important people on a star ship. It would not have been a blow to the starship if she had not made it off the Narada, but if Pike had died in Emalee's stead, it would have most definitely been a blow to the ship, the shockwaves of it even reaching back to Starfleet itself. Sure, there are First Officers to take over if a Captain can no longer serve, but a great Captain like Pike would have been a huge loss to the Federation.

Emalee is nothing in comparison.

As that thought crosses her mind, Jim's voice comes over the ship's intercom, informing the crew that they'll be reaching Earth shortly.

Emalee lets out a slow breath as she realizes she's going to be confined to bed in a hospital until doctors deem her well enough to move around. If there's one thing Emalee hates the most, it's being subjected to mandatory bed rest. She gets restless easily, a trait she shares with Jim, and having to stay still and do nothing for extended periods of time drives her up the wall.

The situation with Bones won't be helping either.

Tired of laying down, Emalee braces her arms on the bed and attempts to get herself into a sitting position, ignoring her stiff muscles' protests and the uncomfortable feeling of the movement pulling on her stitches. Just as she leans back against the pillows giving her back support in an upright position, a nurse bustles over, having noticed Emalee is awake.

"How are you feeling?" The nurse gives Emalee a skeptical look, like she thinks her patient shouldn't be sitting up.

"I'm feeling fine," she says, stubbornly refusing to admit her stomach actually hurts around the stitches and her whole body aches and throbs.

The nurse produces a tricorder and does a quick scan, seeming satisfied with the results.

"Your vitals are normal and it looks like the blood transfusion was a success," she says as she crosses her arms sternly, something she must have picked up from Bones considering he does the same thing. "But don't let me catch you out of that bed."

Emalee salutes the nurse, deciding not to ask about her alleged blood transfusion. "Yes ma'am."

With one last warning look, the nurse turns and moves over to another bed across the way from Emalee, who is kicking herself for landing herself in Medbay so much the nurses know she has the tendency to get out of bed when she probably shouldn't. Emalee reaches up and idly runs her fingers through her dirty blonde hair in an attempt to entertain herself as she curiously looks after the nurse, wondering who she's talking to. Guilt immediately rises in her chest again when she realizes Captain Pike is the one in the bed across from her, her gaze dropping reflexively to her hands folded tightly in her lap.

_It's your fault the Captain didn't have all the help he needed._

Emalee internally tells the thought to shut up, even though a part of her still feels it's right. If she hadn't gotten herself hurt, heck, if she hadn't drawn Bones' attention to herself on the beaming pad, Pike would have had the best doctor on the Enterprise helping him.

But Emalee just had to be too weak, didn't she?

"I know bed rest is the worst, but why the long face?"

Emalee looks up from her hands, realizing the one talking to her is none other than Captain Pike. His kind face is tight around the eyes and pale, reflecting the pain and exhaustion from his ordeal he must be feeling.

Emalee forces down the rising guilt she feels the longer she looks at the captain and manages a small smile.

"It is, isn't it?"

Pike obviously notices she avoided the question, but, thankfully, he lets it go.

"I heard how you got yourself in here," the captain says.

Emalee doesn't respond.

"I also heard you made Kirk leave you behind."

Boy, this man is relentless.

Emalee shakes her head with a small chuckle and looks down at her hands again, still keeping her silence.

"That was a damn selfless thing to do," Pike continues.

"What else was I supposed to do," Emalee finally says with a nonchalant shrug, looking up at the Captain. "I couldn't prioritize myself over the lives of others."

Pike looks her over for several long moments, making her shift under his wise and knowing gaze. 

"That selflessness and courage are valuable traits," the Captain says. "Traits all great Starfleet officers have possessed."

The corner of Emalee's mouth quirks up. "Are you implying I'm a great Starfleet officer, Captain?"

"No, but I think you have the potential to become one." Captain Pike's steady gaze does not waver. "Someone once told me there are no win scenarios and I can see you believe that too."

Emalee pushes a few stray curls away from her face and simply nods her head. Pike is right, she, like James T. Kirk, doesn't believe in no win scenarios.

There is always a way.

Just then, Jim's voice comes over the intercom, informing his crew that they have docked in San Francisco. As soon as Jim signs off, medical personnel seem to burst out of the very walls, hustling and bustling and getting the injured into wheelchairs and off the Enterprise, including Emalee and Pike. Emalee looks around for Bones in the sea of red and blue shirts swarming in and around the star ship, but she never manages to spot him. The nurse from earlier is the one that wheeled her all the way to Emalee's hospital room on the Academy's campus and, as she firmly but gently gets Emalee into the hospital bed and clothes, tells her a nurse will be by to check on her later. Then she bustles out of the room, leaving Emalee alone.

As she sits in the bed and stares at the bland white walls, her short conversation with Bones replays in her mind like a broken record, making her want to tear out her hair and scream in frustration. Her stitches itch and her whole body aches and she can't decide if she wants to shake McCoy until his teeth rattle or kiss him until her head spins.

She wonders, rather morbidly, what would happen if she gave in to the incessant impulse to scratch and not-so-accidentally tear her stitches. If, by some miracle, Bones ended up coming to fix her, what then? He'd only scold her and not let her get a word in edgewise. When McCoy's in one of his moods, you might as well be talking to a brick wall for all the progress you would make.

Emalee knows from experience.

The door to her room slides open with a  _swish_ , startling Emalee from out of her thoughts. She looks up from her hands and spots a blonde nurse dressed in the standard white hospital uniform enter her room and approach her bed, a cafeteria tray in her hands. The nurse hands Emalee the tray, checks her over, and hurries away without a word.

"Well, someone was in a hurry," Emalee says to the empty room.

And that's how it was for the next two weeks.

The same nurse would come in at meal times and bring Emalee food, check her stitches and vitals, occasionally ask a question pertaining to her patient's health, and hurry out of the room like Emalee has the Plague. Only seeing one person for a few minutes a day, the bland hospital room, and lack of anything at all to do except twiddle her thumbs is really starting to take its toll and Emalee misses her friends dearly. She misses Jim's jokes and laughter, the way he manages to find humor in almost every situation. She misses Nyota's scathing comebacks to Jim's teasing and having lunch together and testing each other's knowledge of xenolinguistics.

And most of all, she misses Leonard McCoy.

She misses his sarcasm, dry humor, and intelligence. She misses hearing him call Jim a corn-fed idiot and Spock a green blooded hobgoblin. She misses the easy conversations they would share over a meal and how he makes her feel like, in all his cynicism, she can tell him absolutely anything without judgement from him. She even misses her damn medical exams because they give her an excuse to see the grumpy doctor.

What she would give to see any one of them.

Unable to sit still for another second, Emalee throws off the thin blanket and slides out of bed, the tile cold against her bear feet. Ignoring her stiff body's protest, she begins to pace from the small window on one wall to the door opposite it and back again, just to be doing  _something_  other than thinking herself to death like she has been for the past two weeks. The soft  _pit pat_  rhythm her feet make as she paces back and forth numbs her whirling thoughts. She counts her steps as she paces, mumbling the numbers to herself under her breath as she goes.

She reaches the door and turns to make another pass of the room. "One..Two..Three..-"

"What are you  _doing_?"

Emalee stops in her tracks, disbelief coursing through her, her eyes glued to the floor.

The door closes with a  _swish_  and she, still as a statue, hears the owner of the familiar voice march around her. A pair of pristine white shoes appear at the top of her vision and she slowly looks up, not sure what to expect.

There Leonard McCoy stands, his arms folded disapprovingly across his chest and the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown. Emalee can't help but notice the white uniform he wears brings out the green in his hazel eyes.

Dark eyebrows arch as he stares down at her, waiting for an answer.

Emalee clears her throat. "Pacing."

"Yeah, I can see that." Uncrossing his arms, he gestures at the bed behind her. "Sit down, would you?"

"I've been stuck in that God forsaken bed for  _two_ weeks," Emalee says, her pent up irritation and suppressed hurt and anger suddenly rising to the surface. "And  _not once_  during that time did anyone except a nurse think I might like to see them."

Bones opens his mouth to speak, but the dam has broken and everything Emalee has suppressed is rushing out in a torrent.

"I've been losing my Goddamn mind cooped up in here, wondering where the  _hell_  anyone is, wondering if you actually care about me."

"Emalee-"

She cuts him off again, too angry to notice that her voice is rising, that her fists are clenched tight at her sides, and that hot angry tears are running down her cheeks in bitter rivulets. "And obviously you  _don't_  because if you did, _you_   _wouldn't have disappeared when I needed you most_!"

Her voice cracks pitifully at the end of the last shouted syllable and she bows her head, a sob rising in her chest and lodging in her throat. Her breaths leave her in great shuddering gasps and the tears cloud her vision, making it seem as if she is staring through a distorted filter. What little she can see of McCoy at the top of her vision blurs and shimmers as more tears spill down her cheeks and drip onto the floor. Her shoulders shake as she swallows thickly, only to have her throat close on another sob quickly replacing the first. Finally, she plucks up the courage to look Bones in the eye, letting him see her face and the tears falling freely and without restraint. She lets him see the pain and loneliness she's been feeling.

She lets him see how she really feels about him.

Bones sucks in a slow breath and releases it on a low exclamation. "God help me."

The doctor reaches out for Emalee, his right hand sliding into her dirty blonde curls at the back of her neck, tipping her head back a little. His other gently grips her waist, tugging her closer to him. Before she can even comprehend it, Leonard leans forward and kisses her, his lips warm and soft against hers. Emalee stands there frozen for a second before her brain catches up with her and she realizes exactly what is happening. Her eyes flutter shut as she returns the kiss, tasting the salt of her tears but unable to bring herself to care. She raises her arms and, wrapping them around the doctor's neck, presses herself closer to him until their bodies are flush together. Emalee hardly realizes what she's doing, so caught up in the feeling of being in the doctor's arms and kissing him like this. The kiss lasts for a moment longer before Bones pulls away a step and, cupping her face between his hands, looks Emalee straight in the eye.

"Don't you ever think for a _second_ I don't care about you, Emalee," he says, causing emotion to rise in her chest and a few unshed tears slip down her already wet cheeks. Bones brushes away the tears with the pads of his thumbs in a gentle caress.

"B-but on the  _Enterprise_ \- and the past two weeks...." Emalee knows she must look and sound pathetic, but the way Bones is looking at her, the way she never imagined he would, drives those thoughts away.

"I just- I haven't done this in years and the last time I did, well...." Leonard's eyes close, like he's suppressing bad memories, and he lets out a breath that warms Emalee's face for a moment and smells of peppermint. From what little Bones has told her about his divorce, there's nothing but painful memories there. His eyes open again and meet hers "I don't want to screw this up."

Emalee gives a small smile and runs her fingers gently through the hair at the back of Leonard's head. "You could never do anything that I wouldn't forgive because-." Emalee pauses, swallowing hard. It's now or never. "-because I love you, Leo. I've loved you for so long, I just never knew how to tell you."

Bones stares at her for a moment with something akin to disbelief in his eyes before a smile brightens his face. "God, I'm an idiot." He leans down and kisses her again for a moment before pulling away enough to see her. "I was afraid you'd never want to see my face again. I pushed you away and I'm sorry, Emalee. And, damn it, I love you too. I was just too much of a coward to tell you."

"You're the bravest man I've ever know," Emalee says as she leans up and hugs Leonard tightly. "Remember I said there's nothing you could do that I wouldn't forgive? That's never going to change, Leo."

Emalee's heart soars as Leonard holds her tighter. She loves him and he loves her and they can only boldly go forward from there.


	3. Reichenbach | Sherlock x Oc Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey everyone! This is my very first request submitted by a good friend of mine. She asked me to write a Sherlock Oneshot ( I chose to do it with an Oc, as she didn't care if I did that or a reader insert) and, judging by the title, I'm telling you guys to be careful what you wish for MWAHAHAHAHAHA 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Mundie

The taxi pulls up to Saint Bart's Hospital and John and Claire spill out of the car almost before it's done braking. Claire's heart pounds in her chest, her hands shake and sweat, and the feeling that something terrible is going to happen squeezes her chest like a vice. She follows close beside John as they hurry closer to the hospital.

John's phone goes off and he fishes it out of his pocket and answers it on the first ring. "Hey, Sherlock, are you okay?"

Claire's heart leaps and she grabs John's arm. "Speakerphone, John."

He stops suddenly, Claire almost running right into him.

He turns around and Claire sees the confused look on his face, eyebrows furrowed. "No, we're coming in."

Claire is close enough to the speaker to hear the tones of Sherlock's voice. The words are garbled, but it's all in how they are said. Her heart sinks further.

"Where?" John makes eyes contact with Claire and she can see similar emotions she's feeling in his eyes.

He puts the cell on speakerphone and begins to move back the way they came.

Claire releases his arm and follows. "Sherlock? What's going on?" She raises her voice a little to make sure he hears her.

Sherlock's voice comes through, urgent. "Stop there." They do immediately. "Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop."

Claire turns and looks up, her hand going to her mouth for a moment. "Oh, my God."

John shuffles closer to Claire, holding the phone between them, also looking up at Sherlock. And lo and behold, there he is, coat billowing in the breeze, an outline so familiar to Claire, she recognizes him instantly, even though he's little more than a stick figure.

Sherlock's voice shakes. 'I- I can't come down, so we'll have to do it like this."

"What's going on?" John's face tightens; he knows something is wrong too.

"An apology." Sherlock pauses. "It's all true, everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

Claire shakes her head, her voice cracking. "Sherlock, whatever this is, just come down. Let us help you."

John stares up at him in disbelief.

"You can't help because- I'm a fake." His voice turns tight, emotional. "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

That's not true, it can't be. Claire doesn't believe it.

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up." John shifts his weight, a sign of the stress of the situation. "The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

"You knew about me too, Sherlock," Claire says, her hands clenching at her sides as she struggles to keep her voice even. "You told me my whole damn life story."

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could," John and Claire say at the same time.

Sherlock laughs, a small watery and self deprecating laugh. It sends a bolt through Claire's heart.

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." He sniffles and, oh God, is Sherlock crying? "It's a trick. Just a magic trick."

Claire's eyes sting. "Right, I'm coming up to get you."

She takes a few decisive steps forward, but Sherlock's voice, sharp and almost desperate, stops her. "No! Stay exactly where you are, Claire. Don't move."

Claire shuffles with leaden feet back to John's side. John's arm is raised as if wishing to pluck Sherlock off the roof and put him safely back on the ground.

Sherlock extends his arm too. "Keep your eyes fixed on me." His voice most definitely sounds tearful. "Please, will you do this for me?"

Claire's words gets stuck in her throat, but John voices the question in her mind, his head shaking. "Do what?"

"This phone call – it's my note. It's what people do, don't they?" There's uncertainty in the underlying shakiness in his tone. "- leave a note?"

Claire's mind goes blank and she reels. Leave a note? What does he mean? When do people leave notes? She hears John's voice, but it's garbled, she can't understand it. Sherlock can't-

"Goodbye, John. Goodbye- Claire." His voice breaks on her name, too many emotions in that single syllable to discern.

Claire snatches the phone from John, holding it close to her face. "No, no, Sherlock. Please, don't do this."

His tone is quiet, shaky, but also decisive. "I can't. I have no choice... I'll just have to owe you."

Sherlock drops the phone and the line goes dead. He spreads his arms, as if he intends to fly away, the wind catching his coat making him look like he actually has wings, like he's an angel.

Then he steps off the roof.

The phone in Claire's hand clatters to the ground and she screams.

"Sherlock!"

He goes down, down, down- and then-

-

Claire peels herself from the pavement, running with John toward Bart's. There's already people gathered around-. She and John reach them and Claire sees him.

Sherlock, lifeless, bleeding- gone.

She drops to her knees, hands covering her mouth. Her face is wet, her chest and throat hurts. She can't take her eyes off him. They pick up his body and wheel him away. Claire doesn't get up, John remains crouched on the ground.

Neither of them move.

***

John walks away from the grave, squeezing Claire's shoulder as he passes. She holds her black shawl closer to herself and stares down at his name.

Sherlock Holmes.

"I can't stop thinking about what you said. How are you going to stop owing me if-" She stops, choking on a sob. She forces it down, but is unable to stop the tears. "Why'd you do it? Why couldn't you just wait. John and I could have helped you." She bows her head, covering her face with her hand. "Why couldn't you wait for me? I never got to tell you- to tell you how I feel." A sob forces its way out of her. "I love you, Sherlock. Not that it matters much anymore, but God, I love you and I know you never would feel the same about me, but that's okay. I'd give anything to have you back-"Claire stops again, standing there crying by herself for several minutes. Finally, the sobs subside and she pulls her hand away from her face. She touches his grave stone. "You owe me, Sherlock, so you better get your ass back here and make it up to me."

With that, she turns and walks away, wiping at her eyes.

 

Sherlock Holmes stands behind a tree, watching Claire move away. "I will."


	4. The Road So Far | Castiel x Oc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey guys, how's it going? This particular one shot takes place during the season twelve premiere. This is more of a soulmate AU, where an angel's soulmate can see their wings. So, for my purposes, Cas has his wings and my Oc is a Nephilim(I've tweaked a bit of the canon in regards to that too) 
> 
> Also, just in warning, I wrote this several years ago and it's not up to the same level as my writing is presently anymore. 
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading!
> 
> Mundie

With the Darkness, Amara, at peace and the world yet again saved, one would think everyone involved would be happy. Is it wrong and selfish for three people to be unhappy, in light of the fact the world isn't in immediate danger of annihilation? As the Impala rumbles up the drive to a looming and dilapidated factory building, thoughts of that nature whirl around in Grace's head. Instead of Dean, Sam occupies the driver's seat and she and Castiel sits quietly in the back, Cas' glossy ebony wings folded awkwardly against his back. Dean's absence reminds Grace yet again, with no other choice remaining, a Winchester sacrificed themselves for the greater good. But this time around, Dean isn't coming back. Sam stops the car with a quiet sigh just as, most likely hearing Grace's thoughts, Cas wraps an arm more tightly around her shoulders, drawing her closer to his side in a sweet and comforting gesture. She leans into him gratefully, while touching Sam's large shoulder over the seat, hoping her gesture would ease even a little of Sam's apparent sorrow.

The three sit like that for a few minutes, drawing comfort from each other's presence.

Sam silently looks over at his little sister, his expressive hazel eyes gleaming with a bone deep sadness and understanding. Sammy understands Dean is not going to miraculously come back from the dead this time, but, even though it's going to be harder than it already was from this point on, Grace's (adopted) big brother isn't giving up. He's not giving up on life, he's not giving up on her, and he sure as hell is going to give every evil thing in this world a run for its money.

And she is going to stand with him and do the same.

"Let's get inside," Sammy says as he gently pulls away from Grace.

He opens the heavy vehicle door, slides out and closes it behind him.

Grace and Cas remain seated for several more moments in silence.

"Are you alright?" Cas' deep blue eyes search her forest green ones.

"Honestly, not really," Grace says, her voice sad, but even. "I'm just going to miss Dean... We all are."

There's another slight pause.

"Let's get inside." Castiel opens his own door, exits the vehicle, and extends a hand toward Grace; the beautiful midnight black wings only she can see fold delicately against his back.

Slightly distracted by his wings and the memories of the day Cas told her she was his soulmate, she slides her hand into his and lets him help her out of Baby. As Cas wraps his arm around her shoulders again and the two join Sam, who was patiently waiting for them a few feet away, the Nephilim remembers how happy and awestruck she was to realize that, she, Grace , despite the fact she is a half human half angel freak and considered an abomination by angels, demons and other supernatural monsters alike, was born to be with, love, and be loved in return by someone like him, an angel of the Lord.

Someone she considers far too good for the likes of her.

As Sam leads the two to the Bunker's entrance and pulls open the heavy metal door, one of Cas' magnificent wings partially extends, swathing Grace's back and shoulders with warm and loving feathers.

"Do not think that, Grace," he murmurs to her, his voice low and the smallest bit stern.

_I love you._

The words surface in her mind as suddenly as thoughts tend to do and, although slightly embarrassed, she means it.

"And I you," the angel says with a gentle squeeze of her shoulders.

By this time, Sam, Cas, and Grace have made it all the way down the staircase, all three ready for some time to come to terms with what happened that day.

Suddenly, a female and british voice breaks the silence.

"Hello, hello!"

Grace has a chance to catch sight of a sharply dressed blonde woman standing several feet away from the trio before the woman smacks her bleeding hand against one of the mortar pillars to her left. There's a blinding flash of white light.

And everything goes black.

***

Consciousness drifts back slowly, as slowly, but less pleasantly, as waking from a deep slumber. As Grace's senses slowly filter back, she immediately notices an aching and protesting pain in her wrists, a pain that radiates down the entirety of her arms and shoulders; accompanied by her muscles protesting and an annoying and just as painful chafing of rope tied too tightly against the thin skin of her wrists. Any movements she makes causes her arms stretched awkwardly above her head to throb in irritation. She has to stand on her tiptoes to relieve some pressure being inflicted on her wrists and arms.

Suddenly, there's a sharp and electrical stab of pain against her ribs, causing her to immediately jerk from her semi-conscious state into one of total alertness with a cry of equal parts pain and shock.

"Was that  _really_  necessary," she snaps at her rude awakener after a few seconds in which she caught her breath,

The women who shocked Grace with a long cattle prod, dressed smartly and brown hair pulled back into a bun, merely smirks at the other women and steps away.

"Grace, are you alright?"

The youngest Winchester jerks her head to the right, startled by the sound of Sam's voice. The moose of a man is sat, handcuffed and chained to a chair that is almost too small for him in the middle of the dilapidated and dusty basement the two are held captive in. He has to crane his neck at an awkward angle to be able to look at his adopted sister, who stands several feet away from him.

She nods, suddenly feeling exhausted. The place must be angel awarded to Hell and back.

The door directly ahead of Sam slams open loudly, heralding the arrival of the blonde women who blasted away Cas and knocked out Grace with an angel banishing sigil back at the Bunker.

"You," Sam and Grace growl at the same time as the women casually takes a seat in an old chair several feet away from the captives.

She clicks a pen and flips open a notebook.

"Now," the women says as she gets settled in her seat. "Let's begin."

***

After about ten minutes of questioning and passive aggressive remarks, Bevell shakes her head and stands. Grace watches her carefully, ignoring the tingling in her hands and arms signaling lack of blood flow, ignoring the feeling of the angel warding slowly sapping her strength.

"I knew you and Grace were always a lost cause, Sam," Toni Bevell says with a glance in Grace's direction. "But I'm hoping other hunters are willing to cooperate, to learn. Because maybe with all of us working together, we can make America safe again."

"Maybe you can all go to Hell," Grace snaps at her.

"Have it your way," Bevell says with a shrug as she turns and leaves the room, the heavy door slamming behind her.

The brunette turns and regards the two of them with calculating eyes. "Don't make me do this," she says as she pulls a gleaming angel blade.

The Nephilim's adrenaline kicks in as the woman approaches her. She hears Sam grunting and pulling at his restraints, the chair scraping harshly on the cement floor. Grace spits on the ground at the other woman's feet and glares at her venomously.

" _Bite me_ ," she says in a tone matching her glare.

The brunette raises the angel blade and makes the first burning and extremely painful line across Grace's arm. She squeezes her eyes shut and locks her jaw, holding back cries of pain. Because she is half angel, angel blades burn her skin much like silver burns the skin of a shape shifter, making the deep cuts even more painful and longer lasting than they would have been for a human. Grace's fingers tightly grip the rope attached to the ceiling as the British woman cuts more agonizing slashes into Grace's flesh. She refuses to let herself vocalize and silently takes the agony. All the while, Sam yanks at his restraints, fury and protectiveness building up in him every second the brunette continues to hurt his little sister. But Sam's struggle bears no fruit other than tearing up his wrists, causing his blood to leak out around the handcuffs and drip onto the dusty cement floor.

The brunette periodically pauses in her 'ministrations'. "Ready to start talking?"

Grace, blood leaking down her arms and torso, her chest heaving from exertion and pain, answers, despite becoming weaker every time. "Bite me."

Then the cutting and occasional blow to the ribs or face continues until the British woman asks her the same question, only to be answered with the same response.

Finally, Grace, exhausted and drained from the angel wards and pain, after a particularly hard blow to side of the head, passes out.

"Grace!" Sam calls out, desperately hoping she will be able to hold on long enough for him to get the two of them out of there.

Bevell's lackey wipes the blood from the angel blade with an old rag and tosses the cloth and blade onto a nearby table and picks up something cylindrical. Sam feels the blood drain from his face as he realizes what his captor carries is a blowtorch.

"You son of a bitch," he snarls at her.

"Tut, tut." The woman flicks on the blowtorch. "Play nice now, Winchester."

Then, the British Men of Letters crony approaches Sam with the blowtorch raised.

***

Sam becomes conscious again, his memories of the past few hours nothing but a blur. He remembers watching Grace get cut to ribbons, the blowtorch burn left in his foot and vaguely receiving an injection. He can't quite remember what happened after that, but if this headache is any indication, nothing good must have come of it. Sam shakes his head and lets out a small grunt, willing his mind and vision to clear. Once he can see and think clearly again, and ignoring the terrible pain in the side of his foot caused by the severe burn the brunette gave him with the blowtorch, he immediately cranes his neck, dread filling the pit of his stomach as he takes in the sight of Grace. Her dark brown hair has come out of its low ponytail, sticking to her face and neck with sweat and dried blood. She is streaked with crusty crimson, the cuts left behind red and angry. Her head droops forward, hiding some of her features and the only indication she is still alive is the sound of her uneven and ragged breathing.

"Grace! Grace, can you hear me?"

Sam curses under his breath and futility yanks at the chains binding him to the chair. If only he was free, then he'd make these bastards pay for what they've done. Don't they understand Nephilim can't stay within warding for too long, especially as injured as Grace is? She could very well die if she doesn't get out of here soon.

Suddenly, the door directly in front of Sam swings open, and someone he never thought he would see again is roughly shoved through the doorway by Bevell.

"Dean?"

The eldest Winchester shoots Bevell a dirty look over his shoulder as she deftly chains him to the ceiling on Sam's other side as she asks Sam if he can stand to watch her hurt Dean.

"Don't tell her anything, Sammy." Dean looks around the room as Bevell moves over to the small table laid out with torture tools.

His whole body stiffens when he spots Grace across the room, passed out and weak. Dean calls her name, hoping she'd respond.

When she didn't stir Dean speaks. "Damnit, Gracie, you better hold on."

Just then, Bevell cracks Dean across the face, brass knuckles opening up a new and bruised wound.

"Don't worry about her, Dean," Bevell says as she glances at Grace. "Passcodes, Sam."

Silence.

"Not yet." Bevell moves back over to the table as Dean grunts and spits on the ground. "Anything to add?"

"No, just came by for some tea and a beating."

"Really?" Bevell approaches Dean again, brass knuckles in hand.

About twenty minutes of the English women landing blows on Dean and questioning Sam, who does not answer her, passes. Finally, she switches to a different topic.

"Well, seeing how asking Dean isn't working," Bevell picks up an angel blade and approaches Grace, who is still passed out. Her breathing is even more uneven and becoming shallow. "Shall I see how resilient Nephilim really are?"

Sam and Dean both simultaneously react by yanking on their restraints, their tempers rising.

Suddenly, a familiar voice speaks up.

"Get away from my boys."

Bevell turns toward the sound of the voice, shock registering on her features.

There Mary Winchester stands, her gun trained steadily on the women standing a few feet away.

"Mom?" Sam chokes on his disbelief.

"Yeah," Dean says with one of his smug grins.

Mary picks up some keys laying nearby and orders Bevell to drop the blade.

Bevell drops the blade.

"Ground."

Bevell kneels on the ground as Mary passes Dean the keys. Suddenly, the blonde women lashes out at Mary, knocking the pistol from her hand. Before either of them can react, Bevell elbows Sam harshly in the face and punches Dean, stunning them both. As Dean recovers and struggles to unlock the handcuffs, Bevell and Mary remain locked in a bitter fight, both women equally matched. Just as Dean frees himself from his restraints, Mary and the pistol are thrown in his direction, his mother quickly getting back to her feet beside her son and Dean fires a shot into the ceiling. Just then, Bevel cuts her palm with a piece of broken glass and directs her cut hand at Grace. She begins to choke, her already ragged breathing becoming cut off by the spell.

"Kill the spell," Dean snaps as he aims the weapon at Bevel, the sound of Dean's baby sister suffocating grating to his ears.

Mary stands frozen beside him.

"Shoot me and your sister doesn't stand a chance."

There's a tense pause.

Bevel holds out her uninjured hand. "Gun."

After a few tense moments, Dean hands the gun over.

Then decks Bevel in the face, knocking her out cold. He lets her body crash to the ground.

Dean lets out a sigh of relief as Grace sucks in a large breath of air, however unconscious she is.

"Chinese mind trick," Dean goes over to Sam first and works at unlocking the large man's restraints. "Kinda hard to do unconscious."

***

Grace drifts in a black sea of unconsciousness, feeling and seeing nothing. She can't remember anything when she tries to. Just then, a light suddenly appears before her, a beautiful blue light that emits concern and love. Recognition stirs within her and she reaches out for the light, wanting to let it envelop her and comfort her. When her fingers just brush against the lovely light, a name escapes her lips, no more than a hoarse whisper.

" _Cas_."

The very first thing she feels as consciousness is restored to her is the familiar and simultaneous touch of warm fingers gently lifting her chin, the sound of that deep and soothing voice asking her to open her eyes, and the feeling of the grace that belongs to the one she so dearly loves gently brushing against her soul. Her eyes open weakly, peering up at her soulmate with bleary relief. Her vision is fuzzy around the edges and the world sways like the desk of a ship at sea as she forces herself to keep her heavy eyes open.

"Cas," she whispers again as he wraps a protective arm around her shoulders, the ropes suddenly disappearing from her skin.

"I'm here, Honeybee," Cas murmurs to her as he easily lifts her into his arms, cradling her gently against his chest. "Go back to sleep."

Even in her half delirious state, she can hear the tightness in his voice and see the tautness of his jaw, characteristics that always appear when Grace gets herself hurt or into trouble. She is distantly aware of the sound of voices a few feet away, but she can't bring her fuzzy mind to concentrate on anything but her angel. Cas' deep blue eyes are carefully looking away from her, obviously paying close attention to what is being said, unlike the battered women in his arms. Cas never likes seeing her hurt and she understands looking at her in such a state must be painful for him, as it would be for her if the roles were reversed.

Grace reaches up with a quivering hand and gently touches the side of Castiel's face, immediately getting his full and unwavering attention. As blackness encroaches on the edges of her vision, she gives him a small and, if she's being honest with herself, slightly loopy smile.

_Don't worry_ ,  _My angel is with me now._

As her grip on reality slips away and her eyes close, she catches Cas' murmured response.

"I am always with you."

_Earlier That Day_

Castiel stands beside the Impala, his arms crossed and his jaw becoming tighter every second as he slowly reaches his limit. The uncertainty is killing him, as is his newfound inability to sense his soulmate because of the powerful warding surrounding this place. He knows first hand how draining it is to be trapped inside angel warding of the normal caliber, let alone warding as powerful as this. Even if his soulmate's captors were not hurting her, as he fears they are, warding this strong is surely capable of taking Grace's life. His jaw clenches tighter, if possible, as his treacherous mind continues with this unwanted train of thought, haunting him with thoughts of what could be happening to Sam and Grace, and now Dean and Mary as their absence lengthens.

The angel smothers the urge to scream in pure frustration.

Very rarely has he ever felt so useless in his entire life. Thanks to that blasted warding, there is nothing he can do to help his friends and the love of his existence. When he gets his hands on whoever kidnapped Sam and Grace.... His dark thought trails off as a sleek car rolls down the road toward Castiel, the windows tinted, preventing him from seeing inside the cab. The angel immediately goes on the defensive, only the simple flex of his arm needed to slide his angel blade into his hand. The car stops a few feet away from the lone angel, the engine smoothly turning off. From what Castiel can sense from the occupant of the vehicle, the driver is a human man with an air of confidence about him that grates on Cas' already fried nerves. However, the man does not appear to have any violent or ill intent. The man steps out of the car, impeccably dressed and dark hair carefully styled, and approaches Castiel casually, as if he was expected.

"You are Castiel, I presume." The man's voice is most definitely british and easy going.

"Who are you?" The angel's voice contains partially bridled hostility, the opposite of the british man's tone.

The man raises his hands in a placating gesture, his dark eyebrows raised. "My name is Mick and I'm here to help."

Castiel stares Mick down, carefully looking the other man over as he extends his grace to get a look at this man's thoughts. Cas ignores irrelevant information and passing thoughts and instead concentrates on thoughts that matter. Apparently, this man had been sent to retrieve Toni Bevell, the blonde woman that blasted Cas away back at the bunker, and her associates. This man, along with Bevell and the people she brought with her, are British Men of Letters, the sister branch of the extinct American Men of Letters. There had been a miscommunication in orders from the higher ups, resulting in Bevell's departure and eventual kidnapping of Sam and Grace. Mick is here to bring Bevell and her associates she brought with her back to London to face repercussions.

Cas pulls his grace back from Mick's mind, the british man waiting patiently for the angel's response.

"You.... are truthful," the angel says, his defensive stance slowly relaxing.

"Yes and I am unarmed," Mick says with a nod as he pulls back his black jacket, showing Cas the truthfulness of his words. "I can also destroy the warding keeping you out, if you'll let me."

The thought of finally getting to those he cares about most causes Cas' heart to leap in his chest. However, he does not let his hope show on his face and instead gives Mick a short nod. The shorter man reaches into his jacket pocket, causing the angel to stiffen, his angel blade slipping easily into his hand.

"Easy there," Mick says as he slowly draws out an ooblong object Castiel has never seen before. "It'll take out the warding."

A million different reasons not to trust this man runs through Cas' mind as the angel pins Mick with a suspicious look. The object could be some sort of device designed to blast the angel away, or even kill him, it could call more Men of Letters personnel. It could-

It could allow Castiel to save those that mean more to him than anything.

Having come to a decision, the angel slides his weapon away.

Without a second look at Cas, Mick presses something on the device and hurls it at the house. Castiel holds his breath, praying he didn't just make a horrible decision that would cost his family their lives. Just then, there's a bright flash of light, momentarily blinding him.

Then he feels it.

Grace's soul, her consciousness, everything she is.

He's inside the building almost before he comprehends it, dread filling his heart, fearing he's already too late and his soulmate and friends are beyond his ability to save.

The first thing he sees are the Winchesters gathered around something he can't see and the angel's heart drops to his knees as he realizes who they are gathered around. He crosses the room in a split second, practically shoving Dean aside in his haste. Castiel barely registers the Winchester's exclamations of startlement over the feeling of Grace's soul reaching and crying out for him. The sight of her dangling there by her restrained hands knocks the breath out of him as he reaches out for her with slightly shaking fingers. Memories of similar situations from what feels like long ago flashes before Castiel's eyes. Memories of the time God brought him back after Sam and Michael fell into Hell, the look of shock and grief on Grace's battered face when she saw him standing there. Memories of the time Grace fought beside him against Naomi and her angels and the look of triumph on her bruised and bleeding face as she turned to share her relief of Naomi's defeat with him. Memories of the time Cas was human and April attacked the two of them, the sight of his soulmate kneeling before him after she saved his life.

"Grace," he whispers hoarsely, the memories forming a hard lump in his throat as he smooths soft dark strands of hair away from her battered and bloody face.

He feels his heart clench painfully in his chest as a choked sound escapes her and it takes him a moment to realize she said his name.

Love and tenderness rises up in him full force. "I'm here, Honeybee," Castiel murmurs as he frees her from her restraints, catching her, and, sliding an arm beneath her knees, gently cradling her against his chest.

Dean's fists are clenched and shaking at his sides, the man obviously angry and high strung.

Sam's face is ashy and drawn, the sight of his little sister in such awful shape clearly as painful for him as it is for Cas and his brother.

Mary watches from behind her boys, wondering if Dean's description of his adopted sister is accurate.... but seeing the way her boys look at Grace and treat her, Mary believes it is.

***

The first thing Grace becomes aware of as consciousness slowly filters back is the feeling of familiar warm fingers wrapped around her hand and the comforting sensation of Castiel's grace swirling around her, his presence making her feel warm and safe. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, basking in his nearness and holding off full consciousness for just a little longer. But the memories of all that has happened in the past few days rises to the forefront of her mind, causing her to become fully awake, aware of the aches and pains in her body, and the realization that she has no idea what shape Sam is in.

The thought that her only remaining brother could be dead sends a jolt through her that makes her eyes fly open and to sit up and try to swing her sweatpant covered legs over the side of the bed, her injuries be damned. Sam is one of her highest priorities. She herself is the lowest on her list.

But Cas is there, standing from his seat by her bedside. "Grace, you must lay back down," he says as he takes her shoulders and gently eases her back onto the mattress, one of her loose bed shirts rubbing against cuts she didn't feel before. "You may be the lowest of your priorities, but you are my highest priority. I will not allow you to harm yourself."

Grace grudgingly lets her soulmate settle her back in the bed, but she does not allow his wonderfully soothing voice, the brush of his beautiful grace against her soul, or his deep blue eyes filled with love and concern calm her down and take her mind off her brother. "I know and I'm not trying to hurt myself. I just want to know where my brother is."

Cas sits down again, never taking his eyes off hers, as he retakes her hand in his. "Sam is here and he's alright," the angel says. "He did not sustain as many injuries as you."

She notices the tightness in his shoulders and jaw, the rigidity in which he holds his wings against his back and the way his voice darkens when he mentions her injuries. "Come here," she says as she tugs on his hand.

Her angel does as she asks and leans closer to her, allowing her to wrap her arms around him. She holds him as close as she can, rubbing gently between his wings with one hand and carding her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck like she knows he likes with the other. She feels Cas hold her around her waist and rub smooth circles there. He doesn't seem to care she has him half crouching out of his seat, if the tension leaving him is any indication.

She doesn't pull away or stop what she's doing. "I'm alright, Cas. Everything is okay."

He pulls back just enough to see her face through the dimness in the room, one warm hand coming up and cupping her cheek. He looks deeply into her eyes and Grace immediately becomes lost in their blue depths.

"I cannot lose you," Castiel says, his voice pitched low as he leans his forehead against hers. "I love you far too much."

Before she can respond verbally, her soulmate closes the distance between them and kisses her, his other hand sliding into her hair and causing a shiver to travel down her spine. She feels the mattress sink as Cas places a knee on the bed beside her and his feathers brushing her skin as he brings his wings forward and protectively embraces her with them. Her own grip on him tightens a little, the only thought running through her head 'I love you,' repeating like a mantra.

And too soon, Castiel breaks the kiss and holds her tightly against him, the promise to never let anything like that happen to her again and to never let her go spoken silently between them. Grace exhales shakily, remembering a time in her life where the only thing that mattered was killing her father's murderer and the only things she felt was anger and sorrow. A time where she believed she was loved by no one and deserved no one's love. She was a Nephilim, a freak destined to be hunted down and shunned by all. A being that belongs with no one and nowhere. Then Sam and Dean found her again, her brothers not by blood, but brothers all the same and, thanks to them, she met Castiel, the angel of the Lord, her soulmate.

There is nothing she is more thankful for then her motley crew of a family; without them, she would have fallen deep into darkness long ago, a darkness she never would have been able to escape from.... But the fear of still teetering into that darkness always hovers at the back of her mind.

Castiel pulls away just enough to look into her eyes. "I will never allow that to happen," he says as she feels the ebony feathers brush against her skin.

Grace smiles tightly, trying with all her heart to believe that. "If anyone can keep me from falling, it's you." She reaches up and touches his jaw with her fingertips.

Cas' eyes flutter a little and he leans into her touch. "My Honeybee," he murmurs.

They stay like that for a moment, silent and warm with love and angelic feathers.

After several moments, Grace pulls out of Cas' embrace. "I need to see Sam,"

A doubtful look crosses the angel's face, his lips tightening a fraction. "Listen, Grace-,"

The Nephilim pushes the comforter down and she gently presses the reluctant angel back a few paces. "Cas-" she eases her legs over the edge of the bed, hiding a wince behind her hair. "I can still walk."

Castiel lets out a sigh and shakes his head, then offers her an arm. "At least let me assist you."

Grace remains where she is for a moment, eyeing his offered arm. Finally, she reaches out to him and takes it, standing slowly to her feet. The movement tugs painfully on healing cuts and stiff muscles, but she grits her teeth and allows Cas to slowly lead her out of her room and down the long hallway. The walk is slow and painful, but she is determined to see Sam and make sure he is okay with her own eyes.

Soon, Grace and Cas are approaching the bunker's library and agitated voices reach Grace's ears.

No one else but Grace, her soulmate and Sam should be inside the Bunker.

She freezes in her tracks, shooting Cas an alarmed look. The angel stands beside her, thin lipped, but avoiding her eyes. She moves to round the corner, her injuries be damned, but her soulmate's hand wrapping around the top of her arm stops her. The angel gently tugs her back, but Grace, pulling her arm out of his grip, turns to face him, incredulous.

" _Cas, what's going on?_ "

The angel's voice is low, but just loud enough to mask anything being said in the library. "I wanted you to rest, Grace. Your body can't afford any more strain, not after what happened."

She shakes her head, feeling her agitation soften against her will. " _I know you're trying to protect me, but I'm_ fine,  _really."_

Cas opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of the Bunker door creaking open and falling heavily shut cuts through their almost silent conversation. This time when Grace turns and moves toward the corner, Cas doesn't stop her, but remains silently by her side, knowing her too well to think he can stop her.

Grace rounds the corner and stops dead in her tracks, shock coursing through her. There, standing across the room beside Sam is someone she never thought she'd see again.

Dean.

His name passes her lips on a breath and before she realizes it, she is moving across the room as fast as her aching body will allow. Her big brother looks up, as if he actually heard her say his name, and the tension there disappears, replaced by a smile that lights up his whole demeanor. Without stopping, Grace reaches him and throws her arms around him, squeezing him as tightly as she can.

Dean gently hugs her back. "Heya, baby sis. Happy to see me?"

She lets him go and takes half a step back, her hand still on his chest, just to make sure he's actually real. "You're alive."

"Yeah," Dean says as he leans a hip against the table. "Turns out the whole Soul bomb thing was unnecessary. Managed to talk Amara and Chuck into making up."

Grace lets her hand drop and feels Cas come up behind her, one of his wings half extended to cradle her gently. She leans back into it gratefully, glad Cas is there to offer her his silent support.

"Grace-" Sam steps up beside his brother, placing a large hand on her shoulder- "Not that I'm not happy to see you awake, but are you sure you should be up?"

"I'm fine, Sammy," Grace says. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You were kidnapped too, remember?"

Sam nods his shaggy head. "Hey, I get it and I'm fine too. Cas patched me up the best he could."

Dean slings an arm around his little brother's shoulders, shooting Grace one of his smug smiles. "And don't forget your gallant rescuers."

Grace feels Cas stiffen beside her and sharp looks pass between Sam and Dean. Grace's eyebrows furrow as apprehension settles heavily in her stomach.

"Guys, what aren't you telling me?"

Cas pulls out a chair and half eases-half presses Grace into it. The angel steps back, standing between the two brothers, all of who are looking down at her with the same drawn faces. 

Dean's face is tight. "Amara, she- she brought Mom back." Grace's mouth falls open, but Dean keeps going. "Mom helped me and Cas get you and Sam back, but-" He stops, turning away suddenly, his hands behind his head. 

Cas moves closer to Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"She left, didn't she," Grace whispers.

Sam looks down and nods his head once.

Grace stands to her feet, the chair scraping loudly on the ground. "What the hell? Are you freaking  _kidding me_? What kind of mother leaves her children behind like that? She-"

Dean whips around, dislodging Cas, his voice rising to a shout. " _Don't talk about her like that_!" 

Grace can't help the flinch. 

Then Cas is there standing protectively beside her. " _Dean."_ His voice is pitched low in warning. 

The Winchester deflates a little, some of the red leaving his face. "I'm going out."

Sam tries to stop Dean, but he simply pushes past his little brother and slams the heavy iron door in his face.  There's dead silence for several long moments. Grace, suddenly exhausted, leans against Cas. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. Sam comes back down the stairs and sits heavily in a chair. 

"I'm-I'm sorry." Grace says.  "I didn't mean-"

"It's not your fault, Gracie," Sam says as he wipes a hand over his face. "I'm angry too and so is Dean. You know how he is." 

"This is different," Cas says, voicing Grace's thoughts. "It is your mother and she left."

Sam doesn't comment, just gets up, mumbling something about sleep, and leaves the room.

Grace turns into Cas, wrapping her arms around him.

_I wish I hadn't said anything_.

Her angel holds her tighter. "It is going to be okay, Honeybee." 


	5. Lazarus Rising | Dean Winchester x Oc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Warning, warning, super old fanfiction cringe alert. I repeat, super old fanfiction cringe alert. I wrote this one shot when I was a freshman in high school and I believe it's the oldest thing I've uploaded to date. Please forgive the cringiness of it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Mundie

It’s been four months, four agonizing months since Dean Winchester’s death. Kris lays on her back on the bed in Bobby’s spare room, her arm thrown over her eyes as she tries not to think about Dean, or anything else for that matter. She turns onto her side, the sheets tangled around her legs. She sighs and turns over on her other side, completely awake, despite the early hour. She glances at the clock on the nightstand table and lets out one last huff; Five in the morning. She gives up on trying to go back to sleep and sits up, stretching her arms above her head. She lets out a yawn, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and pushing her tangled bed head out of her face. Morning sunlight filters in between the gaps of the floral curtains over the bedroom window and the sliver of pink early morning sky visible outside is clear; a deceptively beautiful day.

Kris swings her legs over the side of the bed and leans her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. The past four months have been hard on everyone involved and God knows Kris wasn’t handling it well. For the first few months, she would barely eat or drink anything, barely say a word, and Bobby could do very little to get through to her, nor was he in much better condition. It wasn’t until just over two months ago that something inside her snapped back together, causing her to pull out of the stupid haze of self pity and grief. She knew that Dean would kick her ass if he ever found out she wasn’t taking care of herself, if he found out she was doing nothing but feeling sorry for herself. So, she snapped out of it and she started to make an effort to take care of herself and stopped wallowing. Her sudden change of attitude had startled and undeniably gave Bobby some comfort. Regardless of Kris’ change of mind, it took her two whole months to be able to think about Dean without her chest hurting, hell, it’s still tough to think about him, but it’s a start.

She shakes her head to clear it of her thoughts, stands up, and gets dressed in a worn flannel and jeans. She quickly brushes out her hair with her old hair brush and heads downstairs, her eyes stinging a little from the weak morning sunlight.

“Bobby?” Kris calls as she moves into the living room and finds it empty.

“In here.”

She walks into the kitchen, her bare feet making little noise on the worn linoleum as she leans against the counter next to Bobby. He adjusts the worn  hat he always wears and runs a calloused and experienced hand over his ageing face. Bobby’s been a hunter longer than Kris has been alive and he’s helped her and the Winchesters out of a jam so many times she’s lost count. If it hadn’t been for Bobby, she and the boys would have been dead long ago.

“Going to finish up that hunt?” She asks as she watches him prepare a canister of holy water and load rock salt into shotgun shells.

Bobby finishes with the shells and stuffs them into his jacket pocket, along with the holy water before he answers her. “Yeah and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me. It’s probably only going to be a salt and burn, but I could use your help.”

Kris hesitates and nervously tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. She hasn’t felt up to going on a hunt since Dean, but now she gets the feeling that a simple salt and burn wouldn’t be so bad. Plus, it’s probably getting hard for Bobby to dig up graves, considering the man is getting a bit up there in age.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” She answers with a shrug as she picks up her boots that she had discarded by the front door the night before.

She slips on her boots and socks, her throat tightening as the memory of Dean giving her the shoes flashes in her mind. She quickly pushes the memory away and straightens up, hoping Bobby didn’t see her wince. She turns to face him and forces a small smile. Bobby looks at her for a few moments, his wise eyes seeing right through her.

“Come on, Kris,” says Bobby after a few more seconds, his voice normal, if not a bit sleepy .“Let’s get going.”

She nods and follows Bobby out the door and into the crisp morning air, closing and locking the door behind her with Bobby’s spare key.

 

***

 

Kris relaxes on Bobby’s couch, some sitcom she isn’t even watching on the tv. She almost forgot what it was like to be on a hunt again or what is was like to get her sorry butt kicked by a little ghost girl inside the mausoleum where that bit the spirit’s hair had been kept. What Dean would have said to her if he saw that! Kris’ mood immediately drops when she thinks of him and she rubs a tired hand over her face as she, for probably the millionth time, shoves him from her mind. She almost considered calling Bobby, just for something to do, but she didn’t want to bother him when he was out on business.

Kris jumps when her phone vibrates in her pocket and she quickly answers it, expecting Bobby on the other end “Hey, Bobby. What’s up?”

“This isn’t Bobby, Kris…. it’s me,” the voice on the other end of the line is hoarse, but immediately recognizable. It takes an immense amount of self control to keep herself from hurling the phone across the room.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at by impersonating Dean,” Kris growls into the receiver, her voice low and angry. “But don’t you dare call this number again.”

Kris slams the phone shut and tosses it carelessly onto the coffee table, after removing the battery. She hugs herself tightly, the hole in her chest that was just beginning to heal ripping open again because of a single imposter. She bites her lip, hard, forcing the tears that want to overflow back. After a few moments of her internal struggle, the pressure at the back of her eyes disappears and she lets out a sigh of relief. She’s done crying about something that happened months ago. She needs to get over it and move on. She forces herself to pay attention to the tv and let the mindless show keep her distracted. She doesn’t know how many episodes have come and gone, but the sound of rough knocking on the door rouses her from her stupor and she gets up and goes over to the front door. She smooths down her slightly rumpled hair and then opens the door, woefully unprepared for what is on the other side.

She feels as if the wind has been savagely punched from her body as she stares in shock and takes a step back. There Dean Winchester stands, covered in dust and rumple haired on the other side of the doorway and the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Surprise,” he says quietly, his voice a bit sheepish and hoarse, as if he had been shouting a lot.

“You can’t be-,” Kris gasps as she retreats farther backwards, her back thumping against the wall dividing the entryway and the kitchen.

“I know,” the imposter says, like it can’t believe it's there either as it crosses over the threshold “But here I am.”

Kris’ hand closes on a silver knife laying on an old nightstand beside her and she slices out at the imposter’s throat, but it catches her arm, stopping the blow. Kris struggles to rip her arm from the shifter’s grasp and lands a hard left hook across its face and she tears herself from its grasp. The shifter stumbles back and away from her calling

“Kris, it’s me!”

“Yeah right,” She growls as she advances at it again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, wait,” it says as it hold up a hand to ward her off an old kitchen chair between the two of them. She stops moving, despite herself. “Your name is Kristen Little and you met me and Sammy when we ran into each other hunting Yellow Eyes. Hell, you saved our asses.... Kris, it’s me.”

The knife still clutched in her hand, she shoves the chair aside and touches his arm, not believing what she’s seeing. Then her instincts as a hunter kick in and she yet again swings at the imposter, only thinking that it can’t be Dean, it’s not Dean. It catches her arm and twists it behind her back, forcing her to turn to keep her arm from popping out of its socket.

“I’m not a shapeshifter,” he says urgently.

“Then you’re a ghoul!” Kris yells as she tears herself away from it, the knife gone from her hand.

She spins around to face it, watching it carefully as it says

“If I was either, could I do this with a silver knife?”

She watches in disbelief as the imposter presses the silver knife against its upper arm and gives itself a shallow cut. No ghoul or shapeshifter can be cut with a silver blade without burning its skin as well.

“Dean?” Kris gasps quietly in disbelief.

He takes a couple of steps toward her as he says “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Still staring at him wide eyed, she produces a canister of holy water and splashes him in the face with it. He flinches a little and wipes off the water and says,

“I’m not a demon either.”

Before she even realized it, Kris’ arms are around Dean and she’s hugging him as tightly as she can, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He squeezes her back and she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head. Her world fades away to nothing but this very moment in time and all she is aware of is the feeling of him against her and his warmth enveloping her. After a few more long moments of this, Kris pulls away enough to look up at his face, drinking him in.

“Dean,” She whispers as hot and salty tears spill over and run down her cheeks in rivulets.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” he asks her in a concerned voice as he raises one of his hands and draws the pad of his thumb across her cheek, wiping away her tears.

“Nothing,” She sniffles a little as Dean raises his other hand and wipes her tears away with a gentle thumb. “Nothing’s wrong at all. I’m just so happy you’re here.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean says as he smiles his rare and sweet smile at her as his calloused hands drop from her face to her shoulders, then her upper arms, where they linger; he looks her over carefully and his brow furrows a little when he notices that she’s covered in as much dust as he is. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, Bobby and I just got back from a hunt about an hour ago,” she says as she reaches up and scrubs away the tears on her face.

Dean looks her over again and his green eyes stop at her throat, where his brow furrows further. He cups the side of her neck with one of his hands and touches the bruises the spirit left there from attempting to strangle Kris.

“Looks like whatever you hunted got you pretty good,” Dean says, his voice changing from content and soft to hoarse and concerned.

“A little girl,” Kris responds as she knots her fingers in the dusty side of his shirt, just to assure herself that he’s real. “A creepy little girl. She looked just like the one from _The Grudge_. She gave me and Bobby a run for our money.”

Dean scoffs a little as his fingers gently caress the already purpling bruises. “I’ve always thought that movie was stupid.”

“You always have something smart to say, Dean Winchester,” Kris says with a laugh. “Every hour of every day."

"I know I do," Dean agrees lightly.

He falls silent, an oddly pensive look on his face as he looks her slowly over again. She feels his gaze on her like light fingers and she represses a shiver as his eyes rise up to lock with hers, but not before lingering on her slightly parted lips.

“Kris,” Dean says in a husky undertone as he pulls her against him again, still looking deeply into her eyes.

She reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, and smiles at him, genuinely happy, smiling for the first time in the past four months. Dean slowly leans down and promptly presses his warm lips lightly against her's. Her eyes flutter shut and she exhales softly against his mouth. She feels the shiver she caused from that action run down Dean's spine under her hands and he kisses her with more intensity and urgency as he backs her up against the kitchen counter with a thump. Her hands slide into his hair and lightly grips as she spirals away, totally lost in Dean and completely enveloped by him. Slowly, he pulls away from her, his heart pounding so fast that Kris can feel it.

"Kris," he says again in that husky and low tone of voice. "God, Kris, I love you so much and I'm sorry I had to put you and the others through so much. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I loved you before my time was up."

He looks at her with open and hopeful green eyes and she inexplicably begins to tear up again. She presses a soft kiss to his mouth and looks him in the eye.

"I love you too," she says softly, the tears of joy streaming down her face "I've loved you for so long and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner too. But you've got absolutely no reason to apologize about your time running out. I love you, Dean Winchester. I love you so much."

Dean's eyes light up with pure joy and he grins the happiest grin Kris has ever seen in her life. Dean kisses her again, a long and lingering kiss that leaves her breathless and in need of more. He finally breaks the kiss and holds Kris tightly against him and they stay that way for a few content and happy moments.

"Now we have to explain to Bobby," Dean says, amusement in his voice "Fifty bucks says he tries to kill me."

Kris laughs and squeezes him "Oh, there's no point in betting. He'll try to kill you for sure."


	6. Always | Sherlock x Oc Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey everyone! How's it going! I am back with another request by my dear friend. She requested a part two for Reichenbach and here it is! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!
> 
> Thanks so much!
> 
> Mundie

John Watson’s fists clench, most certainly from the impulse to punch Sherlock in the face again. “And have you told _Claire you’re back from the dead_?”

Sherlock lets out a long suffering sigh and gives John a disdainful look to mask the sharp prick of guilt. “John, I’ve only been in London a few hours.”

John’s already pink face turns a more deeper red under the light cast by the restaurant they stand outside of and Sherlock deduces that John is ( _obviously_ ) not happy with his answer. Then Mary takes a step forward and lays a calming hand on Watson’s arm. John’s shoulders loosen a bit, his hands unclench, and his face goes back to a mostly normal color. The expression, however, doesn’t change much.

“Well then,” Mary says with a sweet and conspiratorial smile. “I’ll just take John home and you can go say hello.”

Sherlock looks at Mary, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

 

 **_Guardian                      Shortsighted_ **                         **_Catlover                 Clever_ **

 

**_Romantic                     Linguist                   Nurse_ **

 

Filing deductions and conclusions away to be taken out and looked at later, Sherlock merely nods and finds his eyes drifting back over to John.

Watson, body language closed off and still irritated, takes a step closer to Sherlock. “I hope you’ve thought up a _really_ good apology for her, Sherlock.”

He hadn’t. As a matter of fact, for what feels like the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes has no idea what he’s going to say. But he doesn’t admit that of course.

“Obviously.”

John stares him down, unimpressed. “If I don’t hear that you’ve gone and seen her by tomorrow night…”  
“Yes, yes, you don’t have to threaten me,” Sherlock says as he gestures with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Off you pop.”

John turns with one last warning look and hails a cab.

“You’re worried,” Mary says as John jogs down the street to open the cab door. Sherlock’s gaze cuts sharply over to Mary, any answer becoming lodged in his throat. She merely smiles that smile of hers. “And I would be, too.”

With that, she turns and gets into the cab with John.

Sherlock stands there on the sidewalk for a long time, his mind racing.

 

***

Walking back up to 221B after two years of being away awakens feelings in Sherlock’s chest, feelings he’d rather not deal with, thank you very much. He can almost hear Mycroft’s insufferable voice “ _Sentiment-.”_

 _“_ \- _is_ not _a disadvantage, Sherlock._ ” He can hear the tones of her voice, catch the smell of her shampoo; Lavender. A calming scent. “ _It just means you care_.”

Sherlock opens the door, still half caught up in his mind, and Mrs. Hudson’s ear piercing shriek as he steps over the threshold reminds him of where he is. It takes a while to calm her down and even longer for the scolding to end. By the time she’s done, Mrs. Hudson is in tears again and pulling Sherlock into a hug. His back bends awkwardly as he gingerly pats her shoulder, but he can’t deny that it feels-

“ _It’s okay to feel, you know_.” There she is again, speaking softly to him from the back of his mind, just as she always has.

Mrs. Hudson insists on accompanying him upstairs and helping clean up.

“Just this once,” she says as leads him into the apartment. “I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper.”

The joy in Mrs. Hudson’s voice betrays her true feelings on the subject.

Sherlock stands in the middle of the room and takes it in and Mrs. Hudson bustles

around opening drapes and moving partially packed boxes. Other than a few minor things, 221B is practically the same, if not dustier. Only…

As he steps further in the room and his landlady puts on some tea, he notices things are missing. John’s coat, usually throw across the couch, the doctor’s well used mug, normally on the coffee table and-

Sherlock tries to force his train of thought in that direction to stop when it drifts over to Claire. How her books, normally scattered around the apartment or stacked in small piles next to the couch and Sherlock’s chair aren’t there. He can’t help but notice how her favorite blanket isn’t left in a pile in his chair either. He can almost see her curled up there, wrapped in the blanket with a book in her hand, the only one he doesn’t mind sitting there.

What on earth is he going to say to her?

The hours pass as he ponders this, moving from the spot to spot in the apartment, pacing, picking up his violin and immediately setting it down again. Mrs. Hudson left long ago, having cleaned up quite a bit and leaving Sherlock with a fresh pot of tea. He hardly noticed when she left, too caught up in his mind to hear her leave. He’d sit down in his chair, only to grow instantly restless and shoot right back to his feet. He tried standing by the window and deducing things about passersby, but he’d only see someone with a coat like Claire’s, or a hairstyle that reminds him of her. He’d try starting an experiment, only to lose interest almost the moment he picked up a beaker. Sherlock plopped down on the couch and tried to enter his mind palace, but she’d made herself right at home in there as she has everywhere else.

 

_Claire stands over him when his eyes flick open. He merely stares at her from his spot on the couch, at a loss for words. She smiles at him, such a soft smile, and leans down, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, her lips centimeters from his ear._

_“You can’t do this forever, Sherlock.” Her voice is silken and familiar and it stirs that feeling, that tightening in his chest. “You can’t run forever. From me, or your emotions.” She shifts her weight back enough to look him in the eye. “You know me and you know my feelings haven’t changed.”_

_Sherlock stares up at her, itching to do_ something _, to say_ something _. But what?_

_She smiles at him again and runs a hand through his curls. His eyes flutter for a moment, before he lets the impulse take him, Sherlock reaches up and draws Claire closer._

_“I love you.” Someone says._

_He doesn’t realize he was the one who spoke until-_

 

Sherlock jerks back into the real 221B, the shock yanking him from his mind palace. He sits up and looks around, immediately noticing that night has fallen again.

“Oh, _bollocks_.” Sherlock shoots from the couch and paces with feverish intensity back and forth, his phone a leaden thing in his pocket. John will have called Claire by now, as a matter of fact, she may well-

He freezes when he hears the creak of the floor board just outside the door. Soft footsteps, footsteps he’d recognize anywhere, begin to retreat. Sherlock bounds across the flat and yanks the door open and calls out without thinking.

“Claire.”

She halts and Sherlock drinks in the sight of her.

She’s wearing her favorite coat with the fraying hems and the missing button, third one from the top. Her hair is down, longer than it was when he last saw her; It reaches the bottoms of her shoulder blades in soft waves. He wants to run his fingers through it.

Sherlock takes a few steps closer to her, noticing the stiffness in her shoulders and the way her hands clench at her sides, knuckles white. He wants to smooth away the tension and feel her hand in his.

He stops a little ways from her and says her name again.

Slowly, she turns and they look at each other for the first time in two years.

There are dark bags under her eyes-

**_Not sleeping        Nightmares_ **

and there’s that furrow in her brows when-

**_Stressed            Working too hard_ **

she’s upset. Her jacket isn’t buttoned and it’s slightly askew-

**Hurried Over     John called**

like she didn’t care enough to straighten it. The shirt underneath is wrinkled-

**Slept in it           No clean laundry**

and Sherlock notices it’s her favorite one.

**Needed comfort.**

His eyes drift back up to meet hers again. They’re wide and beginning to water and Sherlock can see the disbelief, in her eyes, and in the way her jaw has dropped a bit as she takes him in. Slowly, she reaches out, her hand shaking almost imperceptibly. Sherlock remains completely still as her hand flattens on his chest, just over his heart. She must be able to feel how it races, she must be able to see in his face the emotions, too many and too chaotic for Sherlock himself to discern, that are boiling over in him.

Claire draws her fingers back, a sharp exhale leaving her. “You _are_ real.”

Then she throws her arms around him.

He remains frozen for several moments, then he catches up with his mind. Sherlock wraps his arms around Claire and squeezes a little. Her face is pressed to his shoulder and he can feel her shake with silent sobs. His heart wrenches as he holds her and a small voice, perhaps his conscious, tells him he’s the cause of this.

 _You hurt her_.

Claire’s grip on his jacket tightens spasmodically, sending another pang through Sherlock. All he can do is hold her tighter and hope he hasn’t destroyed his relationship with one of his very few friends. Although, his feelings go deeper than that, much deeper and that scares him, but-

It’s also exhilarating, allowing himself to feel just a little more.

Because of Claire.

They stand there in the hall together like that for a while, Sherlock doesn’t know how long; he doesn’t care enough to notice the time.

Finally, Claire slowly peels herself away from him, wiping at her eyes. Sherlock resists the impulse to pull her back against him again and instead shoves his hands in his pockets and he looks at her. Claire dries her hands on her coat, avoiding eye contact for several more moments as she sniffles. She’s embarrassed, Sherlock deduces. He can’t recall a time she’s cried in front of him, perhaps that’s where her embarrassment stems from. There’s no reason she should feel self conscious of letting him see her like that.

Sherlock has just opened his mouth to tell her as much, but Claire looking back at him and lightly touching his face silences him. “John must have been angry with you,” she says as her fingers lightly trace the bruising on his face.

He represses a shiver. “Are you?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

She searches his face for several long moments. “I was, for a while.” Her hand retracts from his face and instead rests on his shoulder. “But you don’t do things, especially something like _that_ -,” Sherlock doesn’t miss the way her face tightens. “-for no reason. Where have you been all this time?”

Sherlock’s hands come out of his pockets and he takes the hand resting on his shoulder between both of his. “Dismantling Moriarty’s web.” He traces the shape of her fingers. “You must understand why you had to think I was dead.” Sherlock struggles to keep the desperate edge out of his voice. “Any involvement from your or John would put you both in more danger than you’ve ever dreamed of.” He squeezes her hand, searching her face and, to his great relief, he finds understanding there. She gives him that small, soft smile, the smile that always manages to disarm him so completely. “I missed you.”

Her expression softens even more and her other hand covers his. “I missed you too, Sherlock-.” Her thumb runs over his knuckles, warm and soothing. “-more than even you can realize.”

Her face is glowing, Sherlock notices, glowing with warmth and something Sherlock couldn’t recognize before he met Claire. Something Sherlock feels coiling in his chest and warming his soul.

 _Love_.

He remembers the graveyard and the words he heard Claire speak, remembers how he longed to go to her then. He didn’t know what that feeling in him was then, but he does now.

_Love._

The words, those three simple words, pulse in his mind, louder and more insistent. They long to be spoken, he can feel them boiling over in his throat, showing on his face and in his eyes. And he doesn’t care, there’s no Mycroft mocking him in the back of his mind, only Claire and her kindness and warmth and understanding.

Sherlock Holmes, wielder of stone cold logic, opens his mouth and speaks the most sentimental and emotional words he ever has in his life.

“I love you.”

The biggest and brightest smile of all appears on Claire’s face and she reaches up and takes Sherlock’s face between her hands. “Sherlock….” He leans down, inexplicably magnetized to her. She rests her forehead against his, their breaths mingling between them . “I love you too, always.”

A new door opens before Sherlock in his mind’s eye, leading to a new future filled with love and friends. Claire waits on the other side with John and Mrs. Hudson and even Mycroft behind her. Sherlock walks through that door without hesitation.

He pulls away from Claire just enough to see her eyes, to take in their color and expression, before he kisses her for the first time.


	7. Little Bird | Daryl Dixon x Oc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey, everyone! I'm back with another one-shot! Woo hoo! This one is actually based on a comic I did for my art class in high school and I've been sitting on it partially written for a while before I finally got back around to it. It takes place after Terminus and before the group reaches Alexandria. I hope you guys all enjoy it! (And that Daryl isn't too out of character xD)
> 
> Thanks guys!
> 
> Mundie

The front door to the old abandoned house creaks open, casting an elongated rectangle of light into the entrance-way corridor. Two figures step cautiously over the threshold, one tall and broad shouldered, the other shorter and slim. The floorboards protest under their feet as they move a few paces into the house, the light flooding into the dim interior stretching their shadows across the ground.

"Watch your step," Daryl says, voice cast low. "Floor's water damaged."

Robyne nods in response as the two stop, looking into the kitchen before them and down the hallway on Robyne's left.

"I'll check down this way." She gestures with a thumb down the dimly lit hallway.

Daryl nods, a piece of shaggy hair falling into his eyes. "Be careful."

Robyne reaches up and brushes the hair away, her fingers lingering for a moment on his cheek roughened with scruff. Daryl leans into her touch, some of the tension in his shoulders fading. Ever since Terminus, they've rarely been truly alone together and private moments like the one they share now have had to be stolen. Surviving, let alone being on the road, and constantly being in close quarters with her group can be tough, but she wouldn't trade the family she's found for the world.

That goes double for Daryl.

Robyne breaks the contact after another moment, glad for the silent communication that is unique to them alone. They don't have to talk to show the other cares. And that's perfect for a man of few words like Daryl.

Robyne winks at him and shoots him a flirty smile, before turning toward the hallway, hearing a scoff she knows is half-hearted.

Weak light filters in through the gaps of a shoddily boarded up window at the end of the hallway, catching the dust moats in the air. It's quiet, no sound Robyne can make out coming from behind the only two doors on the left hand wall. Cautiously, Robyne approaches the first door and listens for any sound. When she hears nothing, she eases the door open.

That's when the small amount of light entering the room illuminates the hunched figure standing in the farthest corner of the room. It turns with a guttural hiss, jaws opening and closing with audible clicks. Robyne takes a step back, drawing the blade from her belt with a quiet curse as the walker takes lurching and uncoordinated steps toward her.

She stops retreating in the center of the hallway and stands her ground. "Come and get some, fugly."

She waits for the rotting and stinking monster to get within range. With blade flipped down, she strikes. The knife sinks into the walker's skull and Robyne yanks. Her weapon exits with a _snick_ , black blood and brain splattering. The walker drops, thudding to the ground.

Robyne exhales as she leans back against the wall, letting the adrenaline leave her system as she wipes her blade clean on the dead walker's tattered clothes.

"Robyne?"

She turns at the sound of her name, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand reflexively, smearing the gore. "I'm alright. Just a walker."

"Good." There's hint of concern in his still lowered voice. ".... Found supplies. Gimme your pack."

Robyne rounds the corner and stops under the archway, eyes widening at the decently sized pile of canned food, water bottles and even baby food on the kitchen island. "Daryl, this is great. Where'd you find all this?"

"C'mere," he says as he motions at her with a flick of his wrist. "Under a loose floorboard in the living room."

Robyne obeys as she slips off her pack and sets it on the counter. The two get to stuffing all the cans and bottles in as efficiently as possible. It's felt like an eternity since they've found remotely enough to feed everyone and Robyne can't help but smile to herself. If they're careful, this stuff will hold them over for a few weeks. Robyne doesn't let her mind wander any farther forward into the future than that.

"You look happy," Daryl says, catching her eye.

Robyne's smile widens. "It just feels good to finally get a win, y'know?" She turns and takes a couple eager steps toward the front door. "C'mon. Let's get back to the group. They can use the good news."

"Robyne, your bag."

She turns back around with a small self deprecating chuckle and starts back toward Daryl. "Oh, right, thanks."

The floorboards give a long drawn out _creak_  and, between one breath and the next, the ground disappears from under her feet, the crack of the floor giving way echoing in her ears. The feeling of falling sucks the air from her lungs and constricts her voice.

Then, she lands hard, flat on her back, the debris that fell with her crashing against the cement floor.

Robyne coughs as she struggles to catch her breath, letting out a groan as pain blossoms prominently in her lower body and head. She feels warm blood seeping from a stinging cut above her left eye and trailing down her face. She forces her eyes open and blinks rapidly and when she tries to move her lower limbs, she notices the uncomfortable press of weight on her legs and hips. A large pile of wood debris from the collapsed floor is the culprit.

"Hold on," she hears Daryl call from the floor above. "I'm coming down!"

Robyne forces herself up onto her elbows, biting back a yelp. She looks to her left and notices a long chunk of floor still mostly attached to the ceiling. It creates a precarious but passable inclined plane to the ground floor above. She spots Daryl slipping carefully down the piece of floor.

Just then, a familiar groan splits the relative quiet, followed by another, then another. Robyne's head jerks around, spotting a dusty glass door across the room from her. An innumerable amount of Walkers are pressed against the glass, growling and clawing and pounding on the surface.

"Daryl, don't!" Robyne's voice is hoarse, but she's sure she was loud enough for him to hear.

But he's already down the chunk of floor and rushing to her side.

Daryl drops to his knees beside her and Robyne notices his crossbow is absent from his back. He begins yanking pieces of debris off the pile and tossing them aside. "Gotta get you outta here."

"That door's not gonna hold," she says as she watches him clear away debris. Pain in her legs from the shifting wood causes her to wince and the sound of the walkers desperate to reach them permeating the air. "You're gonna have to leave me. There's no way-"

"Like hell!" His voice cracks on the exclamation and his jaw locks. "I cleared what I can. Gonna have to pull you out."

Robyne manages to get a hold of his wrist, momentarily stopping him. "Even if you could get me out, then what? Ten to one I've got a piece of wood sticking out of me!" She squeezes his wrist and makes eye contact with him. She can see the fear, under his anger. But she has to convince him, or she'll drag him down with her. "I won't be able to run or climb. Leave me and get yourself and those supplies back to the group."

He pries her fingers off him and moves behind her, the sound of the walkers persisting.

Daryl wraps his arms around her, locking his hands together. "We're getting out of this damn basement together. End of story."

"But-"

"I'm pullin' on three." Robyne feels Daryl's grip on her tighten. She knows him well enough to realize there's no convincing him to leave her. If their roles were reversed, she'd never leave him there either.

"One. Two. Three!"

Daryl heaves with all his strength, slowing pulling Robyne out from under the pile. She feels something press against a wound and pain shoots up her body, causing her to cry out. She squeezes her eyes shut and locks her jaw, waiting for the pain to stop. And with one last burst of energy, Daryl frees Robyne from the debris pile, half dragging her to her feet from the suddenness of the release. If he didn't have his arms around her, she surely would have collapsed thanks to the bolt of white hot agony originating from her left leg.

There's a jagged piece of wood embedded above her knee, blood drizzling from the edges. The sight of it causes Robyne's stomach to drop.

The pounding and growling increases in volume, the scent of Robyne's blood sending the walkers into a frenzy, and to her horror, the glass door begins to crack. Daryl half carries half drags Robyne over to the piece of floor and adjusts his grip on Robyne. His arms are looped under hers and around her torso, much like how he pulled her out from under the pile. They then begin their painful ascent, backwards up the broken floor, Daryl adjusting his grip on her every few seconds to aid their way up. Robyne does the best she can to be more help than a hindrance, but any movement she makes with her injured leg results in sharp pangs of pain.

By the time they're about a quarter of the way up, the glass door gives way with an ear piercing shatter and the walkers come spilling through.

The first monster falls over in its clumsy attempt to get through the threshold and impales itself on the large jagged remains of glass left in the door-frame. It claws at the ground, pulling itself forward and tearing itself slowly in half, blocking the way out for the other walkers. With a disgusting tearing sound, the walker's body from the waist down separates from the rest of it and it begins to drag itself across the cement floor. Black blood and guts spill out from the gaping hole in its body, creating a trail as it drags itself up onto the bottom of the piece of floor Robyne and Daryl are struggling up. Robyne redoubles her efforts in their ascent, forcing herself to ignore the pain it causes her. The other five or so walkers stumble with uncoordinated gaits toward them, their growls and hisses coming more ferociously the closer they get.

Just when Robyne and Daryl reach the halfway point, the disemboweled walker gets close enough to wrap its rotting fingers around Robyne's injured leg. She cries out and attempts to shake the thing off her, but its grip on her only tightens. To her horror, it slowly begins to drag her back down.

She twists around as much as she can to look Daryl in the face. "It's going to drag us both down!" An icy calm settles over Robyne she grips Daryl's hands and squeezes them. "You have to  _let me go_."

Daryl's face is tight, lips pulled back in a snarl directed at the walker. " _You know I won't_!"

He reaches down, yanking his knife from its holster, and throws the blade with deadly precision. It whistles past Robyne's ear and embeds itself into the head of the walker dripping Robyne. It immediately lets go and slides back down to the cement floor.

Daryl readjusts his grip on Robyne, pulling her even closer to him and begins the ascent again. The other walkers begin to pile up after them and Robyne feels the floor begin to moan and creak under them. Her heart beats faster if possible as the realization that their only way out of the basement may give way under all the new weight. With one final and painful heave, Daryl drags Robyne back onto solid ground. No sooner had her feet cleared the plank did a loud crack permeate the air, followed by a crash.

Then silence follows.

The duo lay back on the ground, Robyne half on top of Daryl as their breaths leave them in short pants. Robyne feels herself shaking, from relief of adrenaline, she doesn't know. They stay there for several moments, catching their breaths and getting their bearings. Slowly, Daryl sits up, his arms going around her waist to keep her upright and also in an embrace. She leans her head back against his shoulder and places a hand over his. Robyne can feel him shaking and she realizes how truly close Daryl just came to losing her forever.

Finally, he pulls away from her and makes sure she can sit up on her own before he collects his discarded crossbow and backpack. He kneels beside her, silently examining her injury. She can see the way his face tightens at the sight of it and Robyne reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze before extending her arms toward him. Daryl nods and takes a steadying breath before lifting her from the ground.

He cradles her against his chest, turns toward the front door, and presses a chaste kiss to her temple. "I gotcha, Little Bird." 


	8. Megalomania | Sans x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey guys! And Happy Thanksgiving!!! This is the first thing I ever wrote for Undertale and also the first reader insert style story I've written. I wrote this thing by hand in a notebook two or three years ago. So, I decided to type it up, with minor fixes, and share it with you guys! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Mundie

A short statured figure standing in the shadow of the many pillars lining the Hall of Judgment stirs as a small child enters the hall, the grey dust coating their body swirling around them as they move. The other figure detaches itself from the pillar and steps into the light, a sight the child is tired of seeing. Sans the skeleton can clearly see this in the child's face. Sans' eye begins to gleam ominously as the child in the striped shirt and carrying a knife stops in front of him.

"let's just get to the point," Sans says dryly.

He raises his arm and rips the murder's Soul from their body, initiating the fight. Sans throws their Soul down brutally as bones and Gaster Blaster beams swirl around the room, the child's little Soul dodging the attacks nimbly, like they had done it many times before and they have. Over and over and over. But every time, Sans always bested them and they were forced to Reset. Sans just wanted the little monster to give up for good so he and you could just go home and get on with your lives. He is tired of all the Resets, tired of being stuck in this endless loop, and tired of being away from you.

Sans delivers the final, brutal blow and the Soul shatters.

**Reset**.

Sans finds himself leaning against the same pillar again, with his bony hands stuck into his pockets and a hole in his chest from the lack of contact with you. He sees a figure enter the hall again, but this figure, this person, is the one that he would recognize anytime, anywhere. Sans immediately peels himself from the pillar and moves toward you, grinning happily at you as the distance between you closes.

"Sans," you say as he hugs you tightly, his face pressed to your collarbone.

"(y/n), what are you doing here? it's dangerous," Sans says to you as he gently presses you away from him, gripping your shoulders. You hadn't been here in any of the other timelines, So why the hell are you here now?

"I was worried about you," you respond, with that tone in your voice telling Sans that there was nothing he could have done to make you stay behind in safety while he went into danger without you. "I couldn't just sit around and hide with everyone else."

Sans begins to formulate a response, but Chara suddenly entering the hall silences him. Sans' grip on your shoulders tightens as he pushes you back several yards and behind a pillar.

As he retreats to face Chara again, he says to you over his shoulder, "no matter what, stay right where you are."

When Sans squares off with Chara, the little monster's eyes slide coolly over you with malice.

"eyes on me, Chara," Sans says coolly, refusing to let Chara see how much he hates them looking at you. "or you're going to have a  **really bad time**."

Sans starts the battle yet again, your presence in the hall making him even more cautious. He wants this timeline to Reset so you would be out of danger, even though you'll lose the memory of seeing Sans again.The fight goes the way it usually does, but for the first time in a long time, Chara is beginning to tire Sans out. They clearly see this as they attack him and he dodges their strike. Sans is acutely aware of your eyes on him and knowing you are rooting for him fills him with  _ **DETERMINATION**._

In a flurry of bones and rotating Gaster Blasters, Chara manages to evade it all and this is beginning to concern Sans. Chara should have long been dead by now, so Sans switches the game. His eye flares bright blue and he proceeds to slam Chara's Soul into the floor, walls and ceiling as bones and Gaster Blasters continuously fill the area with noise and beams of highly concentrated energy. Sans feels himself wearing out even more, but Chara is looking as bad as Sans is feeling. Their breathing is ragged and they are down to a measly 10 HP.

Sans continues to slam Chara around as much as he can, but the combined effort of using the bones, Blasters, and all the slamming is taking its toll on him. His slamming around slows, as do the bones and the Gaster Blasters. Sans becomes heavy with exhaustion and finally finds himself unable to continue attacking, his breaths coming out in short gasps.

"guess... i've had enough," Sans says as Chara advances on him, their knife gleaming.

Sans' final thought is of you as Chara stabs out at him....

But the blow never lands.

Sans' eye sockets widen in horror as he lays eyes on you standing directly in front of him, you arms spread wide, protecting him and taking Chara's killing blow.

The horrible  _shink_ of blade retracting from flesh echos through the hall and you begin to slide to the floor. Sans, feeling as if he is watching this happen to someone else, wraps his arms around you, his back to Chara, as if to shield you from them like you did for him. Chara merely watches silently, blood dripping from their blade.

There's already far too much blood blooming like a crimson flower from your chest and staining Sans' clothes as he holds you tightly, feeling tears springing from his sockets. Coming partially to his senses, Sans quickly strips off his hoodie and presses it down over the stab wound in your chest.

"(y/n)," Sans says, his voice cracking as he stares down at you, his tears dripping onto your face. "(y/n)! stay with me, open your eyes."

Slowly, your eyes do open and lock with his. Your eyes have always been one of Sans' favorite things about you, but now they are beginning to dull, signifying just how much blood you've lost already.

"Sans," you whisper weakly as you raise a hand and touch his cheek bone. He leans into your touch, his tears staining your fingers.

"why," he chokes out, his jacket already soaked through with your blood. "why did you do that?"

Your eyes begin to dull even further and Sans takes your hand that is touching his face and laces his blood stained phalanges with your fingers.

"Cuz' I love you," you manage to say as your beautiful eyes slip shut entirely.

Hopelessly, Sans gathers you in his arms and holds you tight. "god, i love you too," he whispers, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

He holds you as you breathe your final breaths and he feels your chest cease to rise and fall. His mind takes a few seconds to process this and when it clicks into place, Sans' heart shatters. You were his sunshine, his happiness. You were his will to keep on moving forward. You were the reason the Resets became bearable because he knew he would see you again. But now, the last person he cares deeply for is ripped away from him.

Slowly, his shoulders and hands shaking, Sans lowers you gently to the blood stained marble. If it wasn't for all the blood, he would have thought you were just sleeping. Sans stands to his feet and looks over his shoulder at Chara, who has a wide and disgusting smile on their face.

" _ **y o u**_." Sans' eye gleams blue, illuminating the tears still flowing freely. "you have gone too far,  _ **d i r t y l i t t l e m o n s t e r**_."

Chara is not leaving this hall alive, nor are they ever coming back. As Sans faces Chara, Gaster Blasters and bones whirl chaotically around them, leaving no room for dodging or escape. With an almighty roar, the bones and Blasters attack Chara as one and as they try to Reset, the sheer power fueled by Sans' rage destroys the Save File and Chara along with it.

The child's body drops to the ground and, for just a moment, Frisk is back, mouthing something at Sans. Then, their Soul shatters and the life leaves them.

The bones and Gaster Blasters fade and Sans turns back to your body, unable to bring himself to feel remorse about Frisk just yet. He drops to his knees beside you and as he holds your cold and lifeless form, Sans' horrible and choked sobs fill the hall.

Why?

Why did it have to take losing you, the only thing besides Papyrus he has ever loved, forever to defeat Chara and make sure they never come back? But deep down, Sans knew the Underground was safe, because of the sacrifice you made......

Then everything  **Reset**. 


	9. His Light | BotW Link x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey everyone! I wanted to say sorry for the long delay. It's finals week and I've been super busy studying and doing homework. But after tomorrow, I'll be out of school till January 14th! Which means plenty of time to write! Anywho, I recently got back into playing Breath of the Wild and it inspired me to write a little one shot. As a side note, the reader is related to the other character mentioned. 
> 
> Sorry for the longish author's note
> 
> Mundie

In a blast of bolts and flying pieces of ancient metal, the Guardian Stalker is no more.

Link peaks out from behind his shield, taking in the pile of metal that used to be the ancient weapon. With a silent breath of relief, Link lowers his guard and immediately looks in your direction. You’re just lowering your shield and resheathing your sword as well, wincing as you reach up and dab at a cut on your face. Link quickly approaches you, hand delving into his pouch to pull out a cloth. He manages to stop himself from attending to the cut himself and instead offers it to you, his brows pulled together in concern.

“Thanks, and I’m fine, don’t worry,” you say as you accept the cloth and clean up the cut. “Damn, I thought for sure I wouldn’t get nicked this time.”

Link huffs and raises his eyebrows at you.

“I know, I know,” you say as you hand him the cloth back. “I didn’t get back far enough again.”

Link’s expression softens and he plants a quick kiss to your forehead before he can convince himself otherwise. He swiftly turns away from you, stuffing the cloth back into his pouch to hide the light flush on his face. Link then  looks up at the desolate stone archway before him, his stomach turning as he takes in the now destroyed remnants of his old home. He senses you step up beside him and take his hand, squeezing. You take in the entrance to the once flourishing Castle Town silently. It’s moments like these where Link finds himself extremely grateful to have you with him, the only constant thing in his life from pretty much the moment he woke up. You stuck by him, even when you didn’t have to, even when his mind felt shattered by the flood of memories he endured. He met you on the Great Plateau, shortly after his awakening.

You were there exploring and looking for ancient materials for your research and Link found you at the base of the Sheikah Tower on his way to awaken it. You were inspecting the module hidden among the rocks, a dead Bokoblin not too far away from you and when Link approached, you’d turned around, just as surprised to see another living Hylian up there as he was. You asked him who he was and he gave you his name. Then you’d seen the Sheikah Slate on his hip and pretty much everything went downhill from there.

At first, you’d only accompanied him because he could get into the ancient Shrines, but once you both reached Kakariko Village and your suspicions on who Link really was was confirmed, you stayed with him because you wanted to help and a little adventure, as you put it.

Now here you both stand, over ninety Shrines strong, almost all of Link’s memories restored and with the Master Sword in Link’s possession once again.

Taking a breath, Link shakes himself from his brief remembrances and steps forward, bracing himself for the new onslaught of memories.

He looks around at the stone entrance for a moment, allowing his mind to open. Then the world disappears.

_Smoke._

_Smoke, screams, and explosions. The once peaceful Castle Town erupts in flames, Guardians destroying everything in sight._

_There, a group of three runs from the destruction, Princess Zelda and her two appointed knights Link and someone who looks remarkably like you. They are all covered in dirt, bruised and scraped, but there is no time to stop and think of what just happened, only to run, to keep the princess safe._

_The Guardians are coming._

_The trio pass through the stone archway leading out of Castle Town and one of the knights skids to a halt. The princess and her companion stop too, his blue eyes bordering on wild when he looks at his fellow knight._

_“What are you doing? We must hurry,” the princess says, her voice rushed and cracking._

_“You guys have to keep going,” the knight says with determination. “I’m going to stay behind and buy you some time. They’ll catch up otherwise.”_

_The blue eyed knight shakes his head and seizes their wrist, dragging them forward several steps._

_The other knight digs in their heels and breaks away. “Link, it’s your duty to keep the princess safe! Go, both of you! They are coming!”_

_Link takes another half step forward before halting. His eyes lock with theirs and everything that had gone unspoken, unpursued passes between them. His expression cracks and, for just a moment, they can see the utter agony in his eyes. Then his face closes like a door and Link turns, takes the princess’ wrist and runs away. It’s his duty to protect the princess, as her knight and as her friend, but everything screams at him to-_

_Go back_

_Go back_

Go back

**Go back**

_But he continues to run, even when the sound of Guardian’s blasts fills the air behind him and an all too familiar and terrible scream cuts through the night._

Memories of them come flooding back, like a dam shattered by the weight of water. Images flash by of Link and the knight training together, Link and the knight eating together, laughing together, becoming Champions together, traveling with the princess together.

He remembers them, everything about them. They were his best friend and-

 _He left them here to die_.

His knees harshly meets the cold cobblestone, weighed down by the heavy burden of his guilt. He buries his face in his hands, desperately trying to reel in his emotions, to not make a sound. He feels dampness on his palms and himself shaking. He can’t do this, he can’t break down like this. The fate of Hyrule rests with him, he can’t afford to be weak-

A familiar and warm arm wraps around his quivering shoulders, squeezing a little. “Link, Link, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Link turns into you and buries his face in the crook of your neck, the bottle once sealed tight finally bursting open. You hold him, rub his back, and make comforting sounds and rock him gently.

After several minutes of the two of you crouching on the ground, Link calms down and simply leans into you more, his eyes shut. He feels so drained, yet light at the same time. That was the first time in over a hundred years Link let himself really _feel it._ And here you are, still by his side even after everything that’s happened. Even after his failure to save Hyrule all those years ago. That guilt will stay with him forever, but now he has another chance. He _will_ defeat Calamity Ganon this time.

Because he has you with him, his _light_ , his _hope_.

Finally, Link pulls away, wiping at the snot and tears with his sleeve. He can’t help but turn his face away from you.

You lay a hand on his cheek and gently turn him back, your eyes meeting his. “Do not think for even a _second_ that you’re weak. You’ve been through so much, Link, and remembering everything all at once is _hard_ . I don’t know what you remembered, but I assure you, _it wasn’t your fault_.”

There’s such conviction in your voice, Link can almost believe it. But with the face of his best friend staring back at him, it’s hard to believe that. He’s known for a while that you must be related to the other knight he saw with him and the princess in his other memories. He just didn’t remember how much that knight meant to him. Now, here he is, one hundred years later, with someone who shares the same blood. It must have been fate, this chance to redeem himself.

For Hyrule and for _you_.

Your voice softens as you run a gentle thumb over his cheekbone. “I can see you don’t believe me yet. But that’s okay. I’ll always be here for you, Link. No matter what.”

Warmth rises in Link’s chest and he can’t help but to draw you back into an embrace, squeezing you. Your unending faith in him is incredible. If you believe in him, than he can do anything.

As the warm feeling in his chest rises further, he allows it to guide him. He murmurs your name and when you look up at him, he can see his feelings reflected back to him. Without really thinking about it, Link cups your face and leans in. Just before your lips meet, he whispers two words to you.

“ _Thank you_.”

  



	10. Into Darkness | Bones x Oc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey everyone! How're you guys doing? I've been sitting on this little one shot for a while, and it's a couple years old and therefore not something I'm too terribly proud of. But hey, nothing wrong with that. Anyway, this takes place in Star Trek Into Darkness!
> 
> Thank's for reading!
> 
> Mundie

Emalee stands with her arms crossed beside Jim on the Bridge, listening to Leonard and Carol Marcus begin to work on one of the mystery torpedoes down on the small moon below and trying not to rip her hair out with worry and irritation. The memories of how Bones ended up getting sent down to disengage 'a stick of dynamite' as he said in the first place begins to play in her mind.

_The Lieutenant follows after Jim and Spock down one of the many hallways in the Enterprise, heading to the cargo bay. "Jim, Jim, good God man, listen to me!"_

_Jim Kirk does not stop his forward progress, but he does look over his gold clad shoulder at her, an amused look on his face. "You're starting to sound like Bones."_

_"Captain," Spock says, cutting off any response Emalee could have made. "I recommend you do not continue to antagonize Lieutenant Sterling. I fear further irritation will result in less than pleasant repercussions."_

_"Ah, it's alright, Spock," Jim says as he shoots his First Officer a cheeky smirk. "Emalee loves me."_

_They round a corner and reach the cargo bay. "Damn it, will you stop talking about me like I'm not here?"_

_Emalee takes a deep breath when she realizes her voice has risen to such a volume that she is practically shouting. Her last hope is that Leonard will have some sense and actually listen to her. Sending the doctor out there to disarm a torpedo is absolutely crazy!_

_Just as the first of the many shuttle crafts on the Enterprise comes into view, Bones steps out of the nearest one, as if summoned by Emalee's voice, and meets them halfway._

_"Bones," Jim says as he gives a hearty slap to the doctor's shoulder. "Glad to see you got my transmission. "_

_Emalee pushes between her captain and first officer. "Yeah, and it's the dumbest idea you've ever come up with." The Lieutenant turns to Bones, her voice softening a few degrees. "Please tell me you aren't considering this. It's way too dangerous."_

_"Says the one that went down into an active volcano," Jim says as he nudges Spock._

_Just then, a blonde woman Emalee recognizes as Carol Marcus, the Admiral's daughter, pokes her head out the shuttle doorway, interrupting Emalee just when she opens her mouth to snap back at Jim. "If we're going to do this, we need to leave now."_

_"Emalee, I'm the only one that can do this." Leonard takes a step closer and plants a quick kiss to her forehead. "You always said nothing could beat my legendary hands."_

_She reaches out and grips the doctor's arm. "Leo-,"_

_"Doctor McCoy!"_

_The doctor gently disengages himself from Emalee's grip and backs away, his gaze locked on hers, before he spins around and jogs back to the shuttlecraft. She watches him go as the door closes behind him after he disappears inside._

Now, Carol Marcus is explaining to him how the torpedo works and that he must be very careful.

"I once had to perform an emergency c-section on a pregnant Gord. Octuplets. And let me tell you, those little bastards bite."

Emalee shakes her as the bundle of nerves and tension mounts and mounts inside her, wishing more than anything that Leonard was not down there, sticking his arm inside a highly volatile explosive. And he's telling medical war stories. Can't he take it a little more seriously?

Then, things take a turn for the worse.

On Marcus' word, Bones cuts the wire she instructed him to, only to have the hatch close on his arm and hold him in place.

"Captain, the torpedo is armed and will detonate in thirty seconds!"

Emalee feels her stomach drop to her feet and as if the air has been punched from her lungs.

"Spock, beam them up," Jim says as he strides over to his chair.

"Captain, the transporter cannot differentiate between Dr. McCoy and the warhead. One cannot be beamed without the other." Spock says as he stands to his feet.

Emalee hurries over to Jim's side, hardly able to breathe thanks to her panic making her feel as if a vice is squeezing her lungs as Jim continues to speak. "Marcus, can you disarm the warhead?"

"I'll try."

"Damn it, Jim!" The sound of Leonard's voice sends a bolt of pain through her chest as she realizes this may be the last time she'll ever hear it. "Beam her back up!"

" _No!"_ Emalee can't stop the exclamation from passing her lips.

"You beam me up, he dies! Let me do this!" Dr. Marcus says, her voice firm and Emalee has never liked Carol Marcus more than in this moment.

Emalee holds her breath as Bones begins to count down from ten, hoping against hope that Carol can deactivate the torpedo before their short amount of time remaining is up. The numbers on the screen diminish unflinchingly and just when there's milliseconds left, it stops.

Emalee lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Leo, please tell me you're okay," she says into the con, her voice wavering.

There's a long beat of silence.

"Bones," Jim says as he shares a distraught look with Emalee.

"I'm alright," Bones says

Emalee exhales slowly and droops over the Captain's chair.

"But, Jim, you're gonna wanna see this."

***

As Emalee stalks down the corridor, grumbling under her breath, followed by her Captain and First Officer, she chooses to ignore the fact she must look a hell of a lot like Bones at the moment. In normal circumstances, she would find it funny that she's picked up quite a few of his mannerisms.

But these are not normal circumstances.

She cannot believe he seriously went down there and almost got himself blown up and doing something that wasn't even his job to do, no less! Now, she is not oblivious to the fact she went down into an active volcano with Spock, but that had been her job to do as a Science Officer.

Bones is a doctor, not a torpedo technician!

She rounds the corner leading to the shuttle bay, having every intention of giving Bones a piece of her mind for risking his life like he did. The nearest shuttle door opens with a  _swish_  and a slightly ashen looking McCoy ducks under the ship's threshold.

" _Leonard McCoy_!" Emalee's voice carries the distance between the two, gaining the doctor's attention.

Bones looks up and sees her storming toward him. He has the sense to look abashed and he shifts his weight like a scolded school boy.

She stops in front of him, crosses her arms tightly over her chest, and stares at him for a few moments, tight jawed. What feels like a million emotions roils and tumbles in her chest, anger and relief being the most prominent. Emalee can't distinguish which she is feeling the most.

Finally, she speaks, voice low and drawn. "Do you have any idea-"

Emalee stops as tears sting the back of her eyes and she looks away from him, struggling to reel in her emotions.

Bones lets out a long sigh, tension between the two of them palpable. Spock and Jim feel it acutely and know better than to try and interfere. They stand, speaking quietly to each other, several feet behind Emalee.

Emalee takes a deep breath and looks back up at the doctor, brows furrowed and fists clenched at her sides. "Do you have any idea of how close you came to dying today?"

Bones' mouth opens and closes, indignation rising in his expression. "Are you really going to lecture me about close scrapes? You of all people?"

Emalee's grip on her temper slips dangerously, her voice even tighter than before. "If you're referring to the volcano-"

"Of course I'm referring to the damn volcano! You-" He stabs an angry fingers in her direction, his voice rising. "have no right to be angry-"

"No right to be angry? You almost  _died-"_ Emalee shoves him and he takes a step back, his face a mixture of anger and shock. "-and you honestly believe I  _have no right to be angry?_ "

There's a pause in which Emalee, shaking and chest heaving steps away from her fiance, desperately attempting to scrape together some semblance of calm.

Finally, she speaks, her voice thin and low, and her eyes rise again to meet his. "You were just as angry as I am when I went down into that volcano. If you truly believe you have every right to anger and I have none, then I want no part in this relationship."

She waits for him to answer her, to defend himself, deny what she just said, anything; but he only stares at her dumbly like she just punched him in the gut. And when no answer from him comes, she turns and walks away.

***

The ship is in complete and utter chaos around Emalee. Alarms blare harshly in her ears and red lights flash in her eyes as the ship's deck roils and turns and spins underneath her feet. She is running after Jim and Scotty, their destination the heart of the ship; the Warp Core. If they can get that back online, then they can save the  _Enterprise_  and everyone on it.

After several extremely close calls and with the help of young Chekhov, the trio finally reach the Warp Core, only to be met with a stomach dropping revelation.

" _Warp Core misaligned, Warp Core misaligned."_

"Oh  _no_ ," Scotty says as he wipes a hand down his face.

A misaligned Warp Core means a dead ship, there's nothing they can do.

But Emalee sees the familiar determined glint in her Captain's eyes, the glint that usually appears before he does something stupidly heroic and suicidal. Jim takes off down deeper into the ship, Scotty and Emalee scrambling after him.

"Jim, what are you doing?" Emalee calls after him as her Captain skids to halt in front of a control station, near a small door leading into the Warp Core.

"Captain, I know what you're thinking," Scotty says as he places an urgent hand on Jim's shoulder. "We'd be irradiated in minutes, we would never make the climb!"

Emalee realizes what she must do at this exclamation.

There's no way she'll let her Captain, her friend, sacrifice himself like this, he's too important to the Federation and to his crew.

Before the two men even realize what is happening, Emalee has shoved between them and pressed the button to open the door leading into the Warp Core. Both men let out exclamations as she shoves them off balance, buying herself just enough time to get through the threshold and close the door behind her. Just as it slides shut, Scotty and Jim are already pressed against the glass, shouting at her, begging her to get out of there.

"I have to be the one to do this," she says, quieting their voices for a moment. "Jim, tell Leo I'm sorry and that I love him, would you?"

Without waiting for his response, she turns and opens the second door, flooding her small compartment with radiation. She doesn't look back as she scrambles into the small and dimly lit tunnel, crawling as fast as she can on her hands and knees. The temperature rises the further she gets and the feeling of something being terribly wrong heightens. It occurs to her in the back of her head that it's probably the radiation Scotty mentioned, but she doesn't allow herself to linger on that thought. Her one and only job is getting this ship running.

Emalee spills out of the tunnel and stands, swaying a little unsteadily on her feet, looking up at the Core through the dim blue tinged light. It's a mess of tubes and large circular objects, and at the very top are the misaligned parts, the bottom one canted off to the the side. Ignoring the exhaustion she feels setting in, Emalee begins her ascent, scrabbling up one of the tubes that has foot and hand holds. With the ship shaking like it is and the way her limbs are slowly failing her, it's a miracle she managed to get herself up to the top at all. Ignoring the pain setting into her whole body, Emalee stumbles closer to the misaligned parts, forcing herself to think of a way she can fix this. A bar above her head catches her attention and she reaches up and manages to get a hold of it. If she can knock the bottom part back into alignment, than none of this would have been for nothing.

So, with all the strength she can muster, she begins kicking the misaligned piece, each blow moving it a tiny bit closer to where it originally was, while simultaneously sending a painful jolt to the bottom of her feet and up her legs. She doesn't allow herself to stop, and continues relentlessly, praying harder than she ever has in her entire life for this to work.

And with one final blow, the Core realigns.

The resulting shock wave knocks her from the bar and she falls, crashing harshly against one of the large metal tubes. She tumbles uncontrollably down the side and lands on the ground, the wind soundly knocked from her lungs and pain making her see white for several moments. She lays there on the ground, gasping for air and struggling to reorganize her thoughts. It takes an agonizingly slow thirty seconds or so before she can even think about moving again.

Very, very slowly, she gets herself to her hands and knees and begins to move, limbs shaking violently. She loses her balance several times before she makes it back to the tunnel and she fights to drag herself back into it. Her breath coming out in heavy and short pants, she manages to stay on her feet, albeit in a half crouched position, long enough to haul herself back into the tunnel she arrived in. Her stomach churns and her head pounds as she resumes her slow crawling, barely registering the sensation of the skin of her knees scraping away every pace she moves forward. Her only thought now in her addled mind is to get back to that little compartment so she can rest and make sure everyone is okay, if there's anyone even waiting for her.

Finally, finally, she makes it back.

To her relief, Scotty is there, brows furrowed, shoulders tense, and arms crossed over his chest. He notices her immediately as she plops down heavily, leaning against the wall behind her and the cool glass on her left.

"Emalee," he says with a tiredness she's never heard in his voice before.

The Lieutenant coughs weakly as she slowly reaches up and closes the door leading into that tunnel.

Her hand falls heavily back into her lap.

"How's the ship?" Her voice is hoarse and slow, but she's glad she can still speak.

Scotty crouches down on the other side of the glass, his face drawn and pale. "You saved her, lass. And everyone aboard."

Emalee closes her heavy eyelids for a moment and breaths out a shaky sigh of relief.

Her eyes slowly reopen and a breathy laugh escapes her. "Thank God.... Jim's on the Bridge?"

Scotty nods once, his lips tightening.

"Good." There's a pause before she speaks, a bit senselessly. "Scotty, I'm so tired."

"I know," he says, his voice breaking.

"Thanks for waiting for me to get back," Emalee says, her eyes becoming unfocused, her friend turning into a red blob before her. "You've been a great friend, Montgomery Scott."

She hears him sniffle and the sound sends a pang of sadness through her.

She wishes she could comfort him somehow, but what could she possible say? There's nothing to be done for her.

Before Scotty can formulate some sort of response, Emalee hears a set of rapid footsteps approaching through the glass and she refocuses on the source of the sound.

Her eyes meet a pair of hazel ones, set in a face frozen and pale, mouth slightly agape.

 _Leo_.

He turns to Scotty sharply. "Open it."

The engineer shakes his head as he stands. "I can't. Radiation will flood the whole compartment."

Bones flinches at those words, his eyes seeking out Emalee's again. Slowly, he approaches the glass, Scotty moving out of the way to let him pass. Bones drops to his knees in the engineer's place.

Emalee manages a small smile. "Hey, you."

A choked sound escapes Leonard, pain like she has never seen before blossoming on his face.

Her smile fades, tears running down her face as a small, weak, sob escapes her. "I'm so sorry, Leo. I shouldn't have-"

"Em, hey, it's okay," he says, placing a hand on the glass as if to touch her face as tears of his own spill over. "Once we get you out of there, I'll fix you right up, you'll see."

She raises a shaky hand and matches it to his. "Leo, you know as well as I do I won't make it out of this compartment. It's too late for me."

The doctor shakes his head rapidly. "No-don't talk like that. You'll be alright, I promise."

Another sob rises in Emalee's throat, choking her. She can feel the strength seeping out of her, like blood from a wound. The darkness encroaching on her vision is terrifying to her. Despite everything, she's not ready to die. There's still so much left unsaid between her and Leo, between her and everyone she loves.

But there's not enough time, not nearly enough.

Emalee's eyelids droop without her consent, tears running in salty rivulets, the crushing weight of what only can be death settling atop her, slurring her words. "Leo- I'm scared. I- don't want to die."

Leonard's voice tightens, a forced and controlled calm she's heard him use before for patients who only have a little time left. "I know, darlin'. Just look at me."

She does as he asks with some effort, her vision barely focused enough to allow her to see his face, red and tear streaked and tight as a bowstring, blurred around the edges. Their eyes meet and hold, her fear suddenly fading away, replaced by peace. She tries to communicate to him everything there's no time to say, but she manages the smallest of smiles, to tell him everything's going to be alright.

As her grip on everything slips away and her vision fades, she says three words.

"I love you."

Her hand pressed against the glass slides lifelessly away from Leonard's.

 

When the men dressed in precautionary hazmat suits come, they have to pry Emalee's body away from Leonard. He had her clutched against him, sobbing into her hair and shaking like a leaf in fall. He was murmuring words senselessly to her, begging her to wake up, to come back, telling her over and over that he loved her, that he can't lose her. But the faceless men took her away from him, leaving him with nothing but his grief and his rage. He stayed there, kneeled on the ground, shaking with those emotions, the tile before him dampening with tears. He didn't move until Scotty laid a hand on his shoulder and when Leonard finally looked up to meet his eyes, he knew this was real, that is wasn't just a horrible nightmare.

Scotty lead Leonard to Medbay where the black bag lay on the biobed. He couldn't bear to open it, so he sat heavily on the stool beside it, fighting to reign in his emotions. Not a word passed between the two men and the nurses kept a respectful distance away

Now, Leonard sits, staring at his hands, wondering where the tears went and if he could ever come back from this. The rage has been replaced with numbness, but he doesn't know how long it will last.

Just as the doctor is building enough courage to turn the chair around, the brown mass sitting atop the table in front of him moves.

Leonard's head jerks up, eyes wide, realizing the brown mass is the trible he injected with Khan's blood what feels like years ago. Realizing the trible is breathing.

He's on his feet and whipped around so fast, the stool goes spinning half way across the room.

"Get me a cryotube,  _now_!"

 

 _Words echo to Emalee out of the darkness._ " _Don't do this to me, don't do this to me, darlin'. Please, wake up, wake up._   _Come back, come back to me. God, I love you, I love you. Please."_

 _"_   ** _Emalee, open your eyes_ **_."_

 

Emalee's eyes shoot open and her muscles jump from the suddenness of it.

"Hey there, sunshine." Tender and warm fingers touch her cheek. "How are you feeling?"

She blinks rapidly, dazed, half blinded from the brightness, and aching all over. "Leo?"

"That's right, darlin'," says Bones, his voice as gentle as his touch.

Finally, her vision clears enough for her to see her fiance standing beside her, love and tenderness radiating from him. "I- I thought I-" Emalee reaches up and grips his hand, drawing her thumb across his knuckles as she looks into his eyes. "What happened?"

Leonard's face tightens and pain flashes behind his eyes. With a sigh, he sinks into the chair at her bedside, their hands threaded together on the mattress beside her.

"What do you remember?" His grip on her hand tightens almost imperceptibly.

Emalee reaches for the memories, which are murky, like a face reflected by water's rippling surface. It takes several long moments for the memories to return to her. "I- I remember the  _Enterprise_ , she was going down. I remember the Warp Core- I went in to fix it." She pauses as her eyes lock with Leo's and she sees pain from the memories there. "I remember us. Then I went into darkness.... Leo, I  _died_ , so how am I here right now?"

He flinches at her words and squeezes her hand, spasmodically. "It was Khan's super blood," he finally says, the start of tears in his eyes making her long to reach out to him and hold him against her. "It repairs cells rapidly and it was enough to repair yours."

She sits up as much as she can and reaches out for him. "Come here."

He does as she asks and gently winds his arms around her. They cling to each other for several long moments, Emalee stroking the hair at the nape of his neck soothingly. Bones simply holds her like he'll never let her go again.

"Leo, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry at you- about the torpedo," she says, her voice soft. "I was scared I would have lost you. Now I understand why you were angry before."

Bones pulls back just enough to see her face, his eyebrows furrowed in indignation. "No, I should be the one apologizing." He cups her cheek like she is the most precious thing in the world. "It's a dangerous business we've thrown our lot in with. We can't be angry at each other every time one of us does something stupid. Which-"

"-is all the time," Emalee says with a slightly watery smile.

"Yeah," Leonard says with a smile of his own.

He leans down and captures her mouth in a gentle kiss and everything is right between them again. Everything's alright and Emalee knows that as long as they're still drawing breath, they will have each other.


End file.
